


Blink of an Eye

by ekwtsm



Category: The Streets of San Francisco
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-04-04 19:52:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 41
Words: 84,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14027553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ekwtsm/pseuds/ekwtsm
Summary: "The right front of the Galaxie's grill touched the back left fender of the Imperial.  The contact was surprisingly gentle but, at the incredibly high speed, was enough to send both cars careening sideways across the asphalt, suddenly and terrifyingly out of control."





	1. Chapter 1

PROLOGUE

He had never felt so focused, every fibre and sinew of his lean and compact body concentrating on the taillights of the dark blue Chrysler Imperial that was less than twenty yards ahead of him. His white-knuckled hands were gripping the steering wheel of the tan Galaxie so tightly he almost couldn’t feel them anymore, but he knew he couldn’t loosen his hold even for a split second. There was too much at stake.

The unmarked police car, with an ear-piercing squeal of rubber, slid around the corner, gaining ground slightly as the Imperial fish-tailed before the tires gripped the asphalt once more and accelerated down the deserted road towards the Embarcadero on-ramp.

Assistant Inspector Steve Keller glanced quickly across the front seat. His partner was staring through the windshield, left foot braced against the dashboard and right hand flattened against the ceiling in an attempt to keep himself upright.

The overhead streetlights pinged off the shiny roof of the Imperial as they sped down the street getting closer and closer to the on-ramp. The gas pedal to the floor, Steve was slowly gaining ground on the late model Chrysler, but he was worried that the temporary advantage would disappear when they reached the elevated freeway. He knew he had to make a move and make it soon.

At three in the morning, the streets were virtually empty, but on this warm San Francisco night, the roar of the engines and the squealing tires would wake a fair number of The City’s denizens before long. The Imperial shot through a red light and headed up the Beale Street on-ramp, the tan Galaxie on its tail; the cop car was gaining precious ground but it was an advantage that everyone involved realized wouldn’t last for long.

The two large sedans shot onto the deserted freeway. Steve knew he had to prevent the Imperial from reaching the Bay Bridge where the more powerful automobile would have the advantage and could easily outrun them. And from what he could already tell, the other driver was good… very good.

“Do what you have to!” Lieutenant Mike Stone shouted at him from the passenger seat, his eyes still glued to the Imperial’s back window, and Steve nodded. 

If it was humanly possible, he slammed his foot down even harder on the gas pedal, and the car seemed to shoot forward, closing the gap. The red indicator gauge of the speedometer was as far to the right as possible. The Galaxie got closer.

The specter of the Bay Bridge was looming larger and larger through the windshield as the two sedans screamed along the two-lane freeway. Inch by inch, the tan police car crept up on the dark blue Chrysler. 

Then suddenly they made contact. The right front of the Galaxie’s grill touched the back left fender of the Imperial. The contact was surprisingly gentle but, at the incredibly high speed, was enough to send both cars careening sideways across the asphalt, suddenly and terrifyingly out of control.

The steering wheel tearing out of his hands, Steve felt a blinding pain shoot through his lower right arm and he knew his right wrist had snapped in the split second before the tan sedan hurtled across the freeway and slammed into the concrete guardrail. The Imperial slewed across the tarmac in the other direction, turning almost a hundred and eighty degrees before plowing trunk first into the barrier on the other side of the freeway.

In a second it was all over. Both cars were crumpled masses of broken glass and tangled metal; oil and gas dripped onto the asphalt. Boiling radiator water hissed as it escaped into the cold night air. But nobody in either car could hear it.


	2. Chapter 2

Thirty-six hours earlier

Barely controlling his fury, Detective Lieutenant Mike Stone got up from the hard metal chair and crossed to the interrogation room door. Hand on the knob, he turned back, his hard blue eyes snapping angrily to the blubbering heavyset man on the other side of the table.

“Mr. Delaney, Inspector Lessing here is going to take your statement.” He strove to keep his voice, and his anger, under control. “You’re doing the right thing.”

He yanked the door open and exited into the bullpen, managing to close the door gently and quietly. Shaking his head, both in relief and to expel any residual anger, he pulled his tie loose and undid the collar button as he strode towards his office.

Assistant Inspector Steve Keller glanced up from the typewriter beside his desk. “Well?”

Mike slowed his stride. “Well, he confessed… finally.” He looked back as he got to the open office door and shrugged off his suitcoat to hang it on the rack. “It really was only a matter of time… he may have beaten his wife to death but he’s essentially a coward.”

“Well, Gerry’ll be happy you saved him from having to go to court.” Steve pulled the report out of the typewriter and turned in the swivel chair towards his boss. “If you have a few minutes, you might want to go over this.” 

Rolling up his shirtsleeves, Mike had circled the desk and was just about to slip the .38 off his belt to put in the top drawer. He stopped and raised his eyebrows quizzically. 

Steve got to his feet, a slight smile playing over his lips. “The Warner case, remember?”

Re-animated, Mike set the revolver in the drawer as his face lit up. “Oh yeah, we put that one to bed too, hunh? We’re on a roll, buddy boy – two murders solved in one day.”

Chuckling, Steve entered the small glass-walled office and sat in the guest chair as Mike dropped heavily into his own. The younger man tossed the report on the desk then ran his hands wearily through his hair. Mike turned the report around then patted his shirt pockets in a futile search for his reading glasses. He sighed heavily then, catching Steve’s eye, looked imploringly at the suit jacket hanging on the rack over the younger man’s shoulder.

With an exaggerated sigh and a chuckle, Steve got to his feet and stepped to the rack, running his hands over the jacket until he felt the glasses in the inside pocket. He was just starting to take them out when the phone on Mike’s desk rang. 

“Homicide, Stone.”

Steve turned back to the desk, glasses in hand, to see the smile as well as the colour disappear from his partner’s face. Mike reached for the pad and pen on the other side of the desk and made a few quick notes. “We’ll be right there.” He slammed the receiver down as he started to get to his feet, ripping the top sheet off the pad.

“There’s been a bank robbery over on Stockton!” he barked loud enough for everyone in the bullpen to hear. All extraneous noise ceased; he knew he had everyone’s attention. “The security guard’s been killed and a bank teller and one of our motorcycle officers are down. Three suspects that they know of. I want everybody there, now! Bank of America, Stockton at Green!”

Steve, having tossed the reading glasses onto the desk, had taken Mike’s suitcoat and fedora off the rack and was holding them out. Mike got the .38 out of the drawer and snapped it back onto his belt, then took the jacket and hat from his partner with a curt nod. They strode quickly across the bullpen, Steve grabbing his own jacket as he passed his desk, trotting to keep up with his fast-moving superior.

# # # # #

The tan Galaxie, siren wailing and cherry on the passenger side roof flashing, maneuvered past the cordon of uniformed officers and slid to a stop beside a black-and-white with its doors open. An SFPD motorcycle was lying on its side in the middle of the road.

Several more black-and-whites and a couple of unmarked cars were parked haphazardly up and down the busy financial district street. As Mike got out, a uniformed sergeant approached him at a jog. “The teller and our boy are on their way to St. Mary’s, Mike. It’s looks like they’re both gonna make it.”

Mike nodded grimly as he fell into step beside the grey-haired officer heading towards the granite building, Steve right behind. A young patrolman held the heavy glass front door open for them as they stepped into the busy but unnaturally quiet bank. Stunned employees, some of them crying, were being interviewed by both uniformed and plainclothes officers.

Near the front door, a white sheet covered the body of the security guard. They stopped beside it and Mike knelt, lifting a corner of the sheet so both he and his partner could see the dead man’s face and torso.

“He took one round to the chest… probably hit his heart,” Sergeant Moran said quietly as the two homicide detectives stared at the weather-beaten face, glazed eyes open and staring sightlessly at the ceiling. “If he was lucky he didn’t know what hit him…” 

Mike let the sheet fall gently back down and got to his feet, looking around the bank.  
“What do you know so far, Sandy?”

“Well, there were at least three of them. Two of ‘em came in here already masked and guns drawn. One of them was carrying a large black duffel bag and they ordered the tellers to fill it. He stayed with the tellers and the other one got on top of that… that island or whatever you call it there…” Moran gestured towards the tall counter that housed the deposit and withdrawal slips, “so he could control the rest of the room, I guess.”

Steve had been looking around at the ceiling and he gestured towards a rather large camera in one corner. “Does that thing work?”

“Yeah. We’ve had a look at the videotape. It’s grainy and far away. You can’t see much but these guys didn’t seem to be worried about it. Their masks covered everything from what we can figure out so far.”

“How did all the shooting start, does anybody know?” Mike asked, his eyes still raking the large room.

Moran shook his head. “Conflicting stories so far, but consensus seems to be the guard here,” he gestured towards the body on the floor, “was on a break and wasn’t aware anything was going on, and when he came back into the bank, he reached for his weapon and the guy on the… island thing shot him.”

“How did the teller and our guy get hit?”

“So far it seems like one of the tellers got hysterical when the guard got shot and they couldn’t get her to calm down, then all hell broke loose when one of the other tellers went for the alarm button. They shot her in the arm then they booked it out of here and were heading for their car when our guy came around the corner. He didn’t even have a chance to stop his bike… He took one in the left shoulder but it’s a through-and-through and he should be okay.”

“Did anybody get a make on the car?” Steve asked, glancing over his shoulder towards the street.

Moran nodded. “Late model dark blue sedan, might be a Chrysler… an Imperial maybe. We’re gonna have some of the eyewitnesses on the street to come in and have a look at some pictures.”

“Good idea… and good work,” Mike said with a confirming nod as he started to move deeper into the bank, his eyes still raking the room and taking in every detail. He glanced at his partner and exhaled heavily. “It’s gonna be a long night, buddy boy, a long night.”

# # # # #

The sun was well down by the time the two weary homicide detectives returned to the Hall of Justice. Mike had given up trying to smother his yawns as he followed his younger partner across the parking lot and through the side door of the seven-storey building.

As they turned down the corridor towards the lobby, Steve glanced over his shoulder and smiled empathetically. “I take it you don’t want to take the stairs tonight…?”

Mike shot him an irritated frown which quickly melted into a wry smile and a shake of his head. “You got that right,” he chuckled quietly, his hands stuffed into his pants pockets and hat tipped back on his head. “I think I’d fall asleep before the third floor.”

Laughing, Steve punched the UP button as they arrived at the bank of elevators. They had already been up for over sixteen hours, having been woken in the middle of the night to respond to the fatal domestic dispute at the Delaney home, and they both knew they would probably not be getting much, if any, sleep until the three bank robbers were in custody.

The stakes had suddenly been raised when the full background of the slain security guard had been revealed. Arthur Penson was a retired San Jose Police Department robbery lieutenant who had moved to The City after his wife’s death to be near his daughter, whose husband had been killed in Vietnam. He had taken on the bank security job to help his daughter raise her three young children.

So now everyone in the SFPD was taking his murder personally; it was like a death in the family. They wouldn’t stop until the killers were caught, no matter how long it took.

Mike and Steve stepped off the elevator on the fourth floor and turned towards Homicide. They had spent the last six hours at the scene and the hospital, talking to bank employees and witnesses, watching the videotape of the robbery – which added nothing of consequence – and visiting the two shooting victims at St. Mary’s.

All they had managed to conclude was that there were three perpetrators – two in the bank, one in the car – and that they had fled the scene with a little more than a hundred thousand dollars in unmarked used bills in a late model dark blue Chrysler Imperial. They didn’t even have the luxury of a partial license plate number. 

It was going to be a hard slog.

“You know,” Steve said morosely as he opened the glass-paned door and led the way into the darkened Homicide bullpen, snapping on the overhead fluorescents, “they had enough time after they blew out of there before the first black-and-white showed up to head towards either bridge and get that car outa town.”

“Oh, I know,” Mike sighed heavily as he crossed slowly, hands still in his pockets, towards his office. Not even bothering to turn on the light, he circled the desk and dropped heavily into the chair. “I’ve been thinking about that. I want Oakland and Sausilito notified, and we may even go further than that. What do you think?”

Steve was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed. “I think that’s a good idea. I’ll get right on it. And I’m gonna take a page out of your book and wake someone at DMV.” He chuckled as he pushed away from the door and turned back to his desk.

“Thanks.” Laughing softly, Mike took his hands out of his pockets and leaned across the desk, picking up the phone and dialing three numbers. As he waited for the line to engage, he took the fedora off and dropped it on the blotter. “Rudy! I really didn’t expect you to be there, I was gonna leave a message… Yeah, we just got back. Listen, can I come up and see you? There’s too much to tell you over the phone… Yeah, I’ll be right up.”

He hung up and got to his feet with a weary sigh. Grabbing the hat, he walked heavily through the bullpen, past his young partner now on the phone himself. Their eyes met briefly before Mike opened the heavy outer door and disappeared into the corridor.

They both knew it could be a long time until either of them would be going home.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve was looking towards the door, his hand over the mouthpiece of the black telephone receiver up to his ear, as Mike came back into the bullpen about a half hour later. The older man raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“I finally got ahold of someone who works at the DMV. I’m trying to convince them to get down there and open up so we can go through the files.”

Mike’s eyes lit up in surprised appreciation. “Did you tell them about the dead security guard?”

Steve shrugged. “Didn’t have to; he saw it on the news. I’m bringing up the dead son-in-law now –“ His attention snapped back to the phone. “Yes, yes, I’m still here.”

Mike leaned over the desk and, whispering sotto voce, emphasized his words with an index finger pointed at himself. “If you need any more muscle, use me… or Rudy…” When Steve nodded with a quick smile, Mike straightened up and continued into his office, dropping the fedora onto the coat rack but opting to leave his jacket on. With a tired sigh, he flopped into his chair, leaned back and rubbed his hands over his face then sat forward and shook his head sharply in an almost vain attempt to keep himself awake.

Steve got up from his desk and stepped to the doorway. “My DMV contact is going to be in the office in a half hour. Wanna come?”

Mike stared at him silently through heavy-lidded eyes for a couple of long seconds then nodded sharply and slapped the desk with both hands. “Why not? I’m not doing anybody any good just sitting here trying not to fall asleep.” Chuckling, he got up and joined the younger man as they once more headed out the door.

# # # # # 

“Mr. Cawther, thank you again for doing this. Arthur Penson’s family will really appreciate your cooperation when we finally catch these bastards,” Mike assured the middle-aged bureaucrat who was firing up the office computer.

The thin mustachioed man with the Robert McNamara haircut nodded curtly as he waited for the monitor to warm up. “I had two sons in Vietnam, Lieutenant. Luckily they both came home. But I can relate. And this is the least I can do.” His eyes returned to the screen and he snorted in affirmation. “Inspector, what was the description of that car?” he asked Steve, who was standing over his shoulder, also staring at the screen.

Flipping his notebook open, Steve read out the details and Cawther typed them onto the screen. Finished, he pushed a button and sat back, glancing up at Mike. “It’ll take a few minutes, Lieutenant, but we’ll have a list of every dark blue Chrysler Imperial registered in the State of California. It’s going to be a long list, I’m afraid, but we can winnow it down to Northern California if you want as well.”

Mike glanced at his partner and they both nodded. “That would be great. Let’s do that too.”

Bright lime green letters began to appear on the black screen of the monitor, and before their eyes the list got longer and longer. It was almost an hour later before the detectives, two reams of paper in hand, exited the Department of Motor Vehicles and crossed the empty parking lot to the tan Galaxie.

# # # # #

“Okay, fellas,” Mike announced to the twenty-four uniformed and plainclothes officers assembled in the Homicide bullpen at five in the morning. 

He and Steve had spent the last two hours dividing up the list of Chrysler Imperials registered in northern California, and now they had assembled a mini task force. Every car would need to be located and eyeballed, then crossed off the list. It was a herculean task, but one that needed to be done. And with no other clues at their disposal, it was the only avenue of investigation they could pursue at the moment.

While Mike reminded them of what the task involved, Steve handed out the lists to every two-man team; no one would be working solo on this case. The bank robbers turned killers had already shown that human life was of no importance to them, and everyone wanted to make sure that Arthur Penson would be their one and only fatality.

“All right, fellas, I know everyone hasn’t gotten much sleep, and we’re not gonna get much, I can guarantee you that, until these bastards are caught. But we have a job to do here… the most important job we’ve got: to catch a killer before he kills again.” His intense stare met every pair of eyes in the room. “You all know what to do. Good luck.” He nodded his dismissal and the teams began to file out of the room, taking their first looks at the lists they’d been given.

As the last of the officers disappeared through the door, Captain Rudy Olsen, who had been waiting for the entrance to clear, strolled almost casually into the bullpen. 

Steve was sitting at his desk, staring at the piece of computer paper in his hand, and Mike was returning to his desk. He was just about to sit when he looked up and noticed the captain. “Rudy, why are you still here?” A ghost of a smile played across his lips.

Olsen snorted. “Where else would I be? I can’t be the only one that’s not pulling an all-nighter, it wouldn’t look good.” He glanced at Steve and smiled sardonically. “Listen, ah, I know you two’ve been up over twenty-four hours now. And I need both of you on top of your game in this… Look, why don’t you both head home for a couple of hours and get some sleep? Let someone else take over for a bit.”

Mike had started shaking his head before the captain finished talking. “Thanks for the offer, Rudy, but, ah… well, I don’t know about Steve, but I couldn’t sleep knowing those killers are still out there, I don’t care how tired I am.”

Olsen glared at his lieutenant then turned his scowl on the younger man. Steve smiled and nodded. “Me too.”

With a frustrated sigh, knowing it was fruitless to argue but secretly happy with their response, Olsen shook his head. “Okay, I’ve done my due diligence. But if either of you feels your performance is starting to suffer because of fatigue, then I want you to take a break and get some sleep. I don’t need any more men in the hospital, do you hear me, both of you?” He raised an admonishing finger, his glare snapping from one partner to the other.

With a warm smile and a chuckle, Mike nodded, raising two fingers in a Boy Scout salute. “You have my word, Rudy, I promise. Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a Scout, Mike, don’t bullshit me,” the captain growled good-naturedly as he turned and headed for the outer door. As he opened it, he called back over his shoulder, “You be careful, both of you!”

# # # # #

“One down… how many to go?” Mike grumbled as they got back into the car, slamming the door a little harder than he had intended. 

Sliding the key into the ignition, Steve glanced over and chuckled dryly. He knew exactly how exhausted and frustrated his partner was; he felt the same way.

The sun was barely colouring the horizon when they had had to endure the wrath of an older couple they had ungraciously awakened with insistent doorbell-ringing mere minutes before. Mumbling expletives, the heavy, florid-faced man had angrily thrown a coat on over his bathrobe before leading them to the small garage under the house and showing them his 1970 dark blue Chrysler Imperial, which he insisted hadn’t been driven in the past two days.

Steve had crossed the owners name and the car’s plate number off the list as Mike attempted to placate the irritated citizen by explaining the reason for their very early morning visit. When he heard that a similar Imperial had been used in the bank robbery the previous afternoon, the owner’s demeanor changed instantly, even to the point of wishing them luck as they returned to their unmarked sedan.

Mike looked across the front seat and smiled. “I know, I know… I’m the one who told everyone I want eyeballs on every car on the list…” He chuckled, leaning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes as Steve started the car.

“I didn’t say anything…” the younger man laughed as he shifted into gear and pulled the Galaxie into the street.

Mike grinned, keeping his eyes closed as he felt the car accelerate. “Wake me when we get to the next address,” he snickered, only half-joking.

# # # # #

Steve had his elbows on the wooden picnic table, running his fingers over his eyes and trying not to squint in the bright noonday sun. A yawn he was unable to stifle rent the air as Mike approached the table with a small cardboard box holding four hotdogs and two large styrofoam cups with plastic lids.

“Two dogs each and two black coffees – hopefully with enough caffeine to keep us both awake for as long as necessary,” the older man chuckled as he set the box on the table and stepped over the bench seat to sit down. “Dig in.” He pulled a sheaf of white paper napkins out of his jacket pocket and dropped them on the table.

Steve groaned theatrically as he reached into the box for a hotdog. “You know, these actually smell really good to me right now – I must be more tired than I thought.”

“Har-de-har-har,” Mike groaned as he bit into his own dog, finally starting to get used to the younger man’s constant teasing about his diet. “Just… eat your dogs…” he growled, gesturing towards the box and shaking his head in playful exasperation.

“Inspectors Eight-One!”

Both detectives turned towards the Galaxie, which was parked, illegally, very close to the hotdog stand at a red curb.

“Come in, Inspectors Eight-One!”

They looked at each other, mouths full and eyebrows raised. Finally Mike smiled. “I’m pulling rank… for once,” he said, raising his eyebrows and nodding towards the car.

Rolling his eyes and sighing, Steve pushed himself up from the table, swung his legs over the bench seat and strolled almost nonchalantly towards the car, hotdog in hand. Mike watched in amusement as the younger man opened the passenger side door and slid into the car, snagging the mic and bringing it to his mouth. “Inspectors Eight-One,” he announced after swallowing.

“Eight-one, we have a request for you to connect with Sergeant Palmer on Tach Two.”

“Ten-four, Dispatch. Switching to Tach Two.” Steve turned a knob on the radio. “Inspectors Eight-One. Is that you, Barry?”

“Yeah, Steve, listen, ah, Phil and I just talked to a woman over on 20th near Taraval. She’s the registered owner of a 1969 Imperial, dark blue. But she doesn’t have it. She lent it to her grandson.”

“And...?” Steve prompted when Sergeant Palmer paused for effect.

“And sonny-boy has a sheet – a long one. Mostly robbery and D&D but his last bust was for robbery and aggravated assault – last year he accosted a guy leaving a bank, brandished a gun and hit the guy over the head with it before liberating his cash.”

“Why isn’t he still in jail?”

“We’re not sure yet… still digging. But looks like the victim decided not to press charges, for some… unknown reason. You figure it out…” Palmer chuckled dryly and Steve knew exactly what he meant. 

“Yeah, five’ll get you ten he has some very persuasive friends on the outside… friends that might even rob a bank with him… you think?”

“That’s exactly what I think. That’s why I wanted to let you and Mike know as soon as possible.”

“Thanks, Barry, we appreciate that. Listen, where are you?”

“Back at the Hall.”

“Stay there. Mike and I are coming in.” Steve hung up the mic and looked towards the picnic table. Mike had already picked up the box of hotdogs and coffees and was heading towards the car. There was a renewed vigor in his step.


	4. Chapter 4

“That Baker’s file?” Mike called from behind his desk, his voice cutting through the babble in the bullpen as Steve entered the large Homicide bureau with a thick, legal length manila folder in his hand.

The shirtsleeved inspector held it up and nodded as he stepped through the open door of the inner office and dropped down onto the metal guest chair that was quickly becoming his second home. Glancing up at his curious partner, who had taken off his reading glasses and was leaning forward, forearms against the edge of the desk, Steve flipped the folder open, eyes quickly scanning the coloured mug shot attached to the inside cover. He slipped the photo out from under the paperclip and tossed it on the desk in front of Mike, turning it a hundred and eighty degrees as he did so.

Mike picked the print up and stared at it. “So this is grandma’s good little boy, hunh?”

Steve chuckled as he perused the top sheet of the thick file. “Methinks grandma’s had the wool pulled over her eyes. Graham Charles Baker is nobody’s good little boy, from the looks of this.”

Tossing the photo onto the desk, Mike leaned back in the chair and folded his hands over his stomach. “Tell me.”

Still reading, Steve took a deep breath, his eyebrows rising slightly. “Graham Charles Baker, born July 22nd, 1949 right here in The City. Both his parents are deceased, his mother of cancer when he was six, and his father four years later in a car accident.” He looked up and met Mike’s stare. “He was drunk.”

The older man sighed heavily and shook his head, a cloud passing over his face. As loathe as he was to admit it, it was a scenario which didn’t seem all that far-fetched, and he felt a pang of sympathy. He inhaled loudly and pointedly. “So the boy went to live with his grandmother?”

Steve nodded, his eyes not leaving the file. “His mother’s mother. She lived… lives… here in The City as well.”

“That’s a tough thing at any age but for a ten-year-old…?” Mike’s rhetorical question hung in the air between them for several long seconds then the older man asked quietly. “When was his first arrest?”

Steve had flipped a page over and was studying the form beneath. “Ah, let’s see… that would be ’65, when he was sixteen. He beat up and robbed a fellow student… got a suspended sentence.” He looked up, his eyebrows near his hairline. “His high school principal went to bat for him, promised to keep him on the straight and narrow.”

Mike frowned. “Would your principal have done that for you?”

Steve snorted. “Are you kidding? I think he was happy to see me finally graduate and get out of his hair. He wasn’t too comfortable with my more… oh, how shall I put it? My more political leanings. I was quite the persuader, you know; I got a lot of the other kids to go along with me.”

“A real rabble-rouser, hunh?” Mike asked with a chuckle, grinning warmly.

The younger man tilted his head and smiled enigmatically. “All of it legal.”

Mike’s eyebrows shot up. “Yeah, I believe that,” he laughed sarcastically, shaking his head, his tongue in his cheek. They were both enjoying the welcome, if brief, moment of levity. 

Still chuckling, Steve looked back down at the file. His smile slowly disappeared as he scanned the arrest reports, flipping through them as his partner watched. “He was a busy boy,” he growled finally, “but it’s all pretty minor stuff… three D&D’s, a couple of minor assaults…” He glanced up and met Mike’s frowning blue eyes. “During the D&D’s so he wasn’t booked for them separately, it seems,” he explained with a tilt of his head and the older man shook his head in frustration.

“Maybe if he was, we wouldn’t be looking for him right now.” Mike gestured at the file with his chin. “Anything in there that puts him in the middle of bank robbery?”

Steve flipped quickly through the rest of the file then pushed it away and sat back. “Not that I can see.” He stretched his legs out and crossed his arms; it was easy to see the mounting fatigue on his face. He stretched his neck out and swiveled his head slowly from side to side. “Barry said they asked his grandmother about his friends but she has no idea. I gather he doesn’t spend much time hanging out with grandma.”

Mike chuckled dryly. “I want to talk to this guy, Steve, and I want to do it sooner than later.” He glanced at his watch, his eyes widening as if he couldn’t believe what it said. “My god, it’s only two. Feels like two in the morning… except the sun’s out,” he finished with an ironic snort.

Steve chuckled. “I know. I don’t even remember the last time I slept.”

Mike laughed. “I think it was last year.” He sat forward and started to get up, pointing at the file. “Go through that and find out what high school Baker went to. I want to drop by, find out if the principal or any of his teachers remember who he used to hang around with. Who knows… maybe his friends are his gang… if we’re lucky…”

Wearily Mike crossed towards the coatrack, rolling down his sleeves. Steve opened the file again, flipped through a couple of pages till he found what he wanted, closed the folder and got to his feet. He was putting on his jacket when Mike joined him at the desk, the fedora tilted back on his head.

Baker’s file in his hand, Steve started towards the exit when suddenly Mike stopped. “Jeez, I really am tired,” he laughed, spinning around and heading back into his office. He reached over the desk and opened the top drawer, pulling out his .38. Turning to Steve with a sheepish grin, he clipped it onto his belt. 

# # # # #

“So you remember Graham Baker?” Mike asked the middle-aged, bespectacled math instructor with the salt-and-pepper crewcut as they walked down the almost deserted school corridor.

“Gray? Oh yeah, nobody can forget Gray.” Randolph Carter shook his head ruefully, eyebrows on the rise.

Mike couldn’t resist a smile. “Oh? And why is that?”

The high school teacher chuckled wryly, flashing the police detective a knowing smile. “Let’s just say, Lieutenant, that Gray Baker was a… a colorful character, and I don’t mean that in the eccentric way. He was an angry young man, with a very large chip on his shoulder.”

“Well, he’d been dealt a pretty rough hand as a kid, hadn’t he?” 

“Yes, he had, but still… well, he had a grandmother who loved him to pieces and she was a good woman. Gave him everything. But he just couldn’t see that. To him the world was a dark and angry place, and he was a dark and angry young man. But I always thought that deep down there was a kind and sensitive soul in him struggling to get out… but it never did, as far as I know.”

“Did you ever see him get violent?”

Carter shook his head quickly. “No… no, not me, but I know others around here who did.” Stopping, he looked at Mike questioningly. “So, ah, so why all the questions about Gray Baker all of a sudden, Lieutenant. Did he do something?”

Mike took his hands out of his pockets, looking down and clearing his throat. “Well, we’re not sure, Mr. Baker, but he could be a… well, a person of interest in a case we’re working on right now.”

“Oh.” Carter looked at him over his glasses, waiting for an elaboration. “I believe you mentioned you were with the Homicide Division, Lieutenant Stone. You think Gray Baker may have murdered someone?” There was more than a little skepticism in his tone.

Mike shook his head slightly, raising his eyebrows. “Well, we’re working longshots right now, Mr. Carter, grasping at straws so to speak. We’re trying to solve the cold-blooded murder of that bank security guard –“

“Yesterday?” Carter interrupted, eyes widening. “That bank robbery yesterday? You think Gray Baker might have had something to do with that?”

“Well, we don’t know anything for sure –“

“Then you’re mistaken, Lieutenant. You have to be. Gray Baker may have been a troubled young man, but I can’t believe he’d have anything to do with a… with a bank robbery, let alone killing a man.” The math teacher shook his head emphatically. “No, you’re wrong about that. I would bet my pension on it.”

# # # # # 

“Well, I have to tell you, I don’t think my principal would’ve stood up for any of us if we’d beaten up and robbed another student,” Steve said amiably. He was sitting cross-legged on an upholstered wooden armchair in front the large wooden desk belonging to Principal Roger Hilton.

Hilton chuckled, staring at the San Francisco detective with a bemused smile. “I took a lot of heat for that, Inspector, but I’d do it again today if I had to.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, to be perfectly honest, I don’t really know. But there was something about Graham Baker… everybody called him Gray, by the way… there was something about him that, well, that I felt sorry for.” The stocky gray-haired older man shrugged noncommittally with a soft snort.

“Because he lost his parents so young?”

“Well, yeah, maybe… I mean, we’ve had other kids come to us under tragic circumstances as well, but there was something about Gray that just… got under my skin, I guess.” He paused and swallowed heavily. “You see I lost my own mother when I was six… tuberculosis. But I was lucky; my dad raised me, and he turned out to be one hell of a good father.” He looked down, smiling to himself, and then back up at his guest. “I guess I just saw something in him that… touched a nerve in me, I guess.”

“Enough to convince the police to suspend his sentence?” There was gentleness in Steve’s tone that took the accusatory sting out of his words.

Hilton smiled. “It was his first offense, and I didn’t want the kid to go through the rest of his life with an assault conviction on his record, even if he was a juvenile. It didn’t seem fair.”

Steve snorted softly, looking down at his notebook in his lap. “Have you kept in touch with him since he graduated?”

Hilton’s smile morphed into melancholia. “I try to keep in touch with most of my students, Inspector, but that doesn’t really happen very often. They all drift away eventually. So, no… I’m afraid I haven’t.” His brows furrowed. “May I ask why?”

Steve uncrossed his legs and slowly leaned forward. “I’m sure you heard about the bank robbery on Stockton yesterday… the security guard that was killed…?”

Hilton’s brows knit and he pulled his head back slightly. “Yes, of course I heard about it,” he began quickly, sounding irritated, then he paused and his hazel eyes bored into the inspector’s unwavering stare. “What? Are you telling me that you think Gray Baker had something to do with that? With a murder?”

Steve sighed loudly, glancing down before saying slowly and firmly. “Mr. Hilton, Gray Baker might not be the person you think he is.”

# # # # #

“I tell ya, I gotta meet this Gray Baker guy,” Steve growled as got into the Galaxie, tossing a large but not too thick hard-backed book with a two-toned blue cover onto the seat before inserting the key into the ignition. He glanced at his partner, who had been waiting patiently for his return and who was now bestowing him with an almost beatific smile. Steve froze. “What?”

Mike chuckled. “So I take it the principal didn’t convince you that Baker is an upstanding citizen?”

“Is that the vibe you got from the teachers?”

The older man nodded slowly with a facial shrug. “The ones I talked to seemed to feel sorry for him.” He picked up the book from the seat between them and looked at the cover.

“Yeah, that’s the impression I got too.” Steve rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. “Anyway, Hilton gave me that. He’s circled the kids that Baker hung around with – I think there were only two or three. And he got me their addresses – at least the addresses of where they lived when they went here. Who knows if they’re still viable?” He sighed heavily, watching as Mike got out his reading glasses and put them on, starting to flip through the yearbook. “The addresses are on that piece of paper inside the front cover.”

Mike lifted the cover and picked up the paper. “Three addresses. And all of them are near here.” He looked up and sighed heavily. It felt like he could barely keep his eyes open, and he knew the younger man was in the same boat.

Steve smiled sympathetically, as if reading his partner’s mind. “Shall we…?”

With a closed-mouth grin and a chuckle, Mike nodded. As he heard the engine turn over, he leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. “Sleep is wildly overrated anyway, don’t you think?”


	5. Chapter 5

Steve pulled the Galaxie to the curb in front of the modest beige stucco two-storey home with a narrow lane on the left. Mike lifted his head from the seat and looked out the side window at the dark house. He sighed loudly. “We’re about to make ourselves the least popular people in The City tonight,” he chuckled dryly, squinting at the face of his wristwatch in the wan glow from a nearby streetlight.

Steve laughed slightly. “Just tonight…?” 

Mike looked at him and grinned. “You’re right, that started a long, long time ago.” He looked at the house again. “Come on, let’s go wake somebody up,” he said through a yawn as he opened the door and they climbed from the car into the warm night air.

“Hey, it’s only midnight,” Steve chuckled as he got out from behind the wheel, “it could be a lot worse.”

This address was not on their list. The first two had yielded nothing; the boys had been friends with Graham Baker during their high school years but said they’d had no contact with him since then. The detectives believed them.

They had taken a short break to relax and refuel, both the car and themselves, stopping at a small Italian bistro for a dinner of pasta and strong coffee. Feeling a little more human, they had gone back on the road, making a promise to each other that if the third and final lead went bust, they would finally call it a night and try to grab a few hours sleep. 

But while the third young man told them that he, too, hadn’t hung with Gray Baker in the years since they had left school, he had run into him a couple of times in the neighbourhood in the past few months. And the company Baker had been keeping had made him uncomfortable.

“What do you mean?” Mike had asked, frowning and glancing at his partner sitting beside him on the beige leather sofa in the Stanley living room.

Chet Stanley glanced at his father, who was sitting forward in a nearby recliner, and swallowed heavily before turning his attention back to the two detectives. “I don’t know, sir… they, ah, they just made me uneasy. Like they, ah, like they all had these big chips on their shoulders… and they had to prove they were bigger and tougher than everybody else. One of them came on to my girlfriend too… and that kinda piss-“ He glanced guiltily at his Dad again. “That kinda made me angry.”

Steve smiled genially. “I can understand that. Listen, ah, Chet, do you know who these guys are?”

The young man shook his head. “No… they didn’t go to school with us, I know that. I’ve seen ‘em in the neighbourhood but I don’t know who they are. Sorry.”

“Can you give us a description?”

“I can do better than that,” Chet said with a sudden smile. “They showed up at a block party we had a couple a months back. I think I have some pictures.”

The detectives turned to each other and smiled. “That’d be great,” Mike nodded and the young man got up and disappeared down the hallway. He returned a few seconds later with a small cardboard box, sat and began rifling through it for the drugstore envelop of prints.

“Chet,” Steve asked as the boy continued to search, “do you know if Gray is driving his grandmother’s Imperial?”

The young man hesitated for a split second, thinking. “That big boat? Yeah, he sure is. You can’t miss it.”

“Do you know where he’s living? Where he keeps the car?”

Chet slid a stack of photos out of an envelope and started to flip through them. He glanced up at Mike. “He’s not living with his grandmother anymore?”

The senior detective shook his head.

The young man shrugged. “Sorry, no, I don’t. Must still be somewhere in the neighbourhood though, right? I mean, I’ve seen him on the streets sometimes, so he must still be living around here.” He held out a colour photograph. “That’s them, in the background.”

Steve took the photo and held it so they could both see. They instantly recognized Graham Baker, who was in the middle of the group shot; slightly behind him stood two thin, dark-haired, cold-eyed young men who were staring at the camera sullenly.

Chet shrugged again. “I don’t know their names or anything about them… sorry…”

Mike smiled warmly. “Don’t be sorry, son, you’ve helped us a lot. Thank you.”

Back in the car, Mike had Steve drive them to a phone booth. He called the office, instructing Norm Haseejian, who was himself pulling an all-nighter, to get ahold of Lieutenant Jack Dowd of the Gangs Unit and have him meet them at the Hall as soon as possible.

Dowd arrived in Homicide just minutes after Mike and Steve had trudged through the door and sank into the chairs in the inner office. Without asking, Hasseejian had immediately brought in two black coffees with plenty of sugar. 

“Don’t bitch about it,” he warned good-naturedly as his put the two mugs on the desk, “just drink it. You need the energy. I’ve seen cadavers that look better than you two right now.”

Chuckling despite himself, Mike reached for the mug and wrapped both hands around it. “Thanks, Norm… and you look great too, by the way.”

“Why thank you,” Haseejian retorted with a bow and a laugh as he returned to his desk.

“What d’ya need, Mike?” a deep baritone voice bellowed from the door as Lieutenant Dowd strode into the room.

Mike put the mug down and ran his hands quickly over his face before pointing at Steve, who took the photograph out of his inside jacket pocket and handed it to the Gangs specialist. “We need a coupla guys identified,” Mike filled him in as Steve pointed to the two unknowns in the photo. “We have no idea who they are… and they might not even be members of a gang… it’s a longshot, but it’s the only one we have right now… They’re from the Dolores Heights area.”

“You thinking they had something to do with the bank case?” Dowd, studying the photo, glanced up briefly.

Both homicide cops nodded grimly. 

Dowd sighed. “I don’t recognize them myself, but I’ve got a couple of guys who have their fingers on the pulse of the streets in that area. Let me call them in. If you guys can hang around for an hour or two, I could have something for you. Is that all right?”

Mike looked at his partner and nodded. “That’s perfect. Thanks.”

# # # # #

“Hey.” He felt a hand shaking his forearm. “Hey… get up… Jack’s got something for us.” 

Steve pushed himself into a sitting position, frowning as he looked around the darkened room, trying to get his bearings. He pushed the thin grey blanket away, realizing he was on the cot in the small anteroom on the seventh floor that was used for just such a purpose. 

He looked up into Mike’s tired but animated eyes, and shook his head slightly as if to clear it. “How long did we sleep?” he asked dully, running his tongue over his dry lips. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d brushed his teeth.

“About an hour,” Mike chuckled, heading for the door. He had chosen to catch a few winks in his desk chair, with the door closed and the lights off. He stood in the open doorway and waited for his partner to join him. “Better than nothing, I guess,” he sighed and shook his head.

# # # # #

“This one… I think I know this one.” Sergeant Yarrow was pointing at one of Baker’s ‘friends’. “He’s not in a gang, but if it’s the guy I think it is, I busted him for underage drinking and threatening a coupla years ago. He spent a coupla months in Juvie, I think. Anyway, here’s the address we had for him then.” He took a folded piece of paper out of his bomber jacket pocket and handed it to Steve, who opened it, read it and nodded at his partner who was standing behind his desk.

“Fillmore District,” Steve said and Mike nodded.

“So… what? You guys think this kid has something to do with what happened at the bank yesterday?”

Mike nodded frowning. “Yeah… well, maybe,” he shrugged with a dry chuckle. “We’re tracking down everybody that owns or has access to a late model dark blue Chrysler Imperial – it’s the only clue we’ve got. And someone this guy knows has access to one… and the right… temperament, I guess you could call it. So Steve and I are following this one up while everybody else works their way through their own lists.” He tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn. “Sorry…”

Dowd, who was standing beside him, chuckled and slapped his colleague on the back. “Don’t apologize. I don’t envy you guys on something like this. They haven’t called us in yet,” he included Sergeant Yarrow with a nod, “but that might be just a matter of time.”

“Just ask,” Yarrow put in, looking soberly from one lieutenant to the other, “I’ll gladly come in anytime to work on something like this. Those bastards shot a cop without blinking an eye… their next target could be any one of us.”

Mike smiled gratefully. “Well, let’s just hope this little nugget you’ve given us leads to something concrete and we can get these killers behind bars sooner than later.”

# # # # #

They approached the door. The house, inside and out, was dark. Mike nodded towards the doorbell and, as Steve pushed it, opened the wrought-iron gate and knocked loudly on the thick wooden front door. 

After several deafening seconds, they paused and listened. Nothing could be heard from inside. They tried again with still no results. Mike backed away from the door and crossed to the head of the lane, staring towards the back of the house. “I think there’s a garage back there.” He looked at his partner, gesturing with his thumb over his shoulder towards the car. “Do me a favor, will ya, and get the flashlight from the glove compartment?”

“Mike, we can’t go down there. We don’t have a warrant,” Steve warned quietly.

The older man turned and smiled at him. “I’m just gonna stroll down the lane, that’s all. I thought I saw a stray dog run down there. Didn’t you?”

With a snort and shake of his head, Steve returned to the car, retrieved the flashlight and joined his partner on the sidewalk. Grinning, Mike took the flashlight and turned it on, then started up the driveway.

There was a garage at the end of the lane; Mike played the beam of light over the door. A row of small windows lined the second folding panel from the top, about seven feet high; not even Mike, on tiptoe, was tall enough to look through them.

“Here,” he said, handing Steve the flashlight and bending over, interlocking his fingers into a step. When the younger man looked at him with a confused frown, Mike gestured with his head towards the garage door. Still perplexed, Steve shrugged.

Mike snorted his exasperation, sagging slightly. “You’re lighter than I am. I want to boost you so you can look in the window,” he explained patiently with a shrug and raised eyebrows, emphasizing his words by lifting his hands slightly.

“Oh… yeah… right…” Swallowing a smile, Steve put his right foot onto Mike’s hands and jumped a bit, allowing Mike, with a slight groan, to lift him so he could grab the thin edge of the window with his left fingertips to steady himself. He raised the flashlight and pointed it through the window. “There’s a car in there, a big one. It’s dark, maybe blue, maybe black, but I can’t tell what make or model it is.”

He felt Mike start to lower him and he dropped lightly to the ground. The older man straightened slowly, brushing the asphalt grit from his hands. “Okay, let’s get a warrant.”

“At this hour?”

“There’s at least one judge on call just in case. I need to get to a phone and call Haseejian. I remember seeing one back on, ah, oh… Webster and Turk.”

Steve shook his head with a smile, constantly amazed as his partner’s knowledge of The City’s phone booth locations. “I’ll drive you –“

“No no no,” Mike said quickly. “I’ll walk. It’s just a couple of blocks. I want you to park further down the street so you can’t be seen and keep an eye on this house, and this driveway. And if that car goes anywhere, I want you to follow it.” He sighed with a frown. “And I hope that doesn’t happen… at least not till I get back.”

They walked back down the driveway to the sidewalk. Mike headed off in the direction of the phone booth then stopped suddenly and turned. His hands in his pockets, he retraced his steps, looking slightly sheepish. He cleared his throat slightly then asked in a low voice, “Um, have you got a couple a dimes? I don’t have any change for the phone.”


	6. Chapter 6

His eyes kept slowly closing, as if of their own free will, and try as he might he couldn’t get them to stay open. He was trying everything to stay awake: shaking his head vigorously, which only make him dizzy; bouncing slightly up and down in the seat; humming to himself. He even tried counting backwards from a hundred but only got to seventy-six before he messed it up and stopped in frustration.

His chin was slowly dropping towards his chest when the loud and unexpected metallic click of the passenger side door being wrenched opened startled him awake as Mike slid quickly into the car. Steve’s head snapped back, his eyes wide as he turned to find the older man staring at him with a bemused smile.

“I take it nothing happened?” Mike asked genially, gesturing through the windshield with his head.

“Ah, no… no,” Steve stammered, sitting up a little straighter, focusing once more on the house down the street.

“Good,” Mike nodded firmly. Steve eyed him warily. Mike looked invigorated, like he’d just slept for eight hours and ate a hearty breakfast. The younger man frowned, the look a combination of wonder, surprise and envy. “Well, I got ahold of Norm and he’s going to go for the warrant. He’ll let us know when he gets it and then we can go in.”

Steve was still staring at him, brow furrowed.

“What?”

“Um, where did you get all this energy from?”

For a split second Mike looked confused then he grinned. “Oh, ah… you’d be surprised what a brisk walk can do. Really woke me up. I’d recommend it – but, ah, not now, of course.” He chuckled softly. “Tell you what, though. It’s gonna take Norm a little time to get the warrant drawn up and signed, so you and I aren’t going to be going anywhere for awhile. Why don’t you catch a few winks and I’ll keep an eye on the place? If worse comes to worse and things escalate… well, I want at least one of us to be awake for it.”

Steve stared at him silently for several long seconds then nodded grimly. “You’re sure?”

Mike nodded back with raised eyebrows. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

With a grateful smile, Steve slid down behind the wheel so his head was against the back of the seat. He closed his eyes, and within seconds Mike could hear the soft and rhythmic breathing that indicated sleep.

The older man watched his partner for a beat then shifted his focus through the windshield, a warm smile lingering. He took a deep breath and shook his head quickly, rubbing his hands together, his eyes never leaving the dark and brooding house far down the block.

He hoped he could stay awake.

# # # # #

“Steve!” 

He felt the slap on his arm at the same moment the urgent voice cut through the fog in his brain. He sat up quickly, instantly awake and alert. 

“They’re running!”

Peripherally he saw Mike sitting forward, staring out the windshield and pointing. Automatically turning the key in the ignition and shifting into Drive, he could see the back end of a wide car, its lights off, heading away from them up the street and squealing into a fast right turn, the bright red taillights briefly flashing on and off.

“It’s an Imperial!” Steve shouted, his entire body suddenly infused with adrenaline. “I recognize the brake lights!” 

Mike nodded rapidly. “They just charged out of the driveway! No warning!” he yelled as he slapped the cherry on the roof as the Galaxie shot away from the curb and flew down the street. As it slid around the corner, they could see the large sedan about two blocks ahead as it passed under the streetlights; on the empty streets, it was going to be fairly easy to follow, even with the lights off, if they could gain some much needed ground.

Bracing himself against the dashboard, Mike reached for the radio, unclipping the mic and bringing it to his mouth. “Inspector’s 8-1!” he shouted over the siren, pressing the button on the door with his other hand to close the window in a futile attempt to lower the decibel level inside the car.

Concentrating on trying to close the gap between themselves and their fleeing quarry, Steve half-listened as his partner informed Dispatch of their pursuit, their current location and possible route, and their need for back-up. 

Sliding around several more corners, the smaller and more agile Galaxie was slowly gaining ground on the bigger Imperial. Fighting against the whiplash effect of the suddenly breaking then accelerating car, Mike managed to rehang the microphone then braced himself again. 

The taillights of the dark sedan flashed on as it slid into a left turn, sliding around a corner, fishtailing, its right rear fender slapping against a parked car. The smaller car rocked slightly as the sedan bounced off it, losing more ground to the Galaxie. 

They were both leaning forward, eyes riveted on the back of the fleeing car. As the buildings flew by, Mike glanced at his partner, more grateful than ever that Steve was in the driver’s seat. As good as he himself was, he knew in a situation like this that the younger man, with his above average driving skills, was the one he wanted behind the wheel.

Steve had never felt so focused, every fibre and sinew of his lean and compact body concentrating on the taillights of the dark blue Chrysler Imperial that was now less than twenty yards ahead of him. His white-knuckled hands were gripping the steering wheel of the tan Galaxie so tightly he almost couldn’t feel them anymore, but he knew he couldn’t loosen his hold even for a split second. There was too much at stake.

The unmarked police car, with an ear-piercing squeal of rubber, slid around another corner, gaining ground slightly as the Imperial fish-tailed once more before the tires gripped the asphalt and accelerated down the deserted road towards the on-ramp.

Steve glanced quickly across the front seat. His partner was staring through the windshield, left foot braced against the dashboard and right hand flattened against the ceiling in an attempt to keep himself upright. Taking his hand from the ceiling, Mike reached for the mic again and thumbed the ‘talk’ button, telling Dispatch they were headed towards the elevated Embarcadero Freeway.

The overhead streetlights pinged off the shiny roof of the Imperial as they sped down the street, getting closer and closer to the on-ramp. The gas pedal to the floor, Steve was slowly gaining ground on the late model Chrysler, but he was worried that the temporary advantage would disappear when they reached the elevated freeway; there the Imperial would put them at a distinct disadvantage. He knew he had to make a move and make it soon.

At three in the morning, the streets were virtually empty, but on this warm San Francisco night, the roar of the engines and the squealing of the tires would waken a fair number of The City’s denizens before long. The Imperial shot through a red light and headed up the Beale Street on-ramp, the tan Galaxie on its tail; the cop car was gaining precious ground but it was an advantage that everyone involved realized wouldn’t last for long.

The two large sedans shot onto the deserted freeway. Steve knew he had to prevent the Imperial from reaching the Bay Bridge where the more powerful automobile would have the advantage and could easily outrun them. And from what he could already tell, the other driver was good… very good.

“Do what you have to!” Mike shouted at him from the passenger seat, his eyes still glued to the Imperial’s back window, and Steve nodded. 

If it was humanly possible, he slammed his foot down even harder on the gas pedal, and the car seemed to shoot forward, closing the gap even more. The red indicator gauge of the speedometer was as far to the right as possible. The Galaxie inched closer.

The specter of the Bay Bridge was looming larger and larger through the windshield as the two sedans screamed along the two-lane freeway. Realizing there was a possibility that they could lose this chase, Mike took his hand off the ceiling and reached for the mic once again. He needed to tell Dispatch to alert the Oakland police to throw up a roadblock on the other side the bridge. 

Inch by inch, the unmarked police car crept up on the dark blue Chrysler. 

Mike pressed the ‘talk’ button then froze, staring wide-eyed as the Imperial’s chrome bumper disappeared below the hood of their tan sedan. He held his breath as time seemed to standstill.

Then suddenly they made contact. The right front of the Galaxie’s grill touched the back left fender of the Imperial. The contact was surprisingly gentle but, at the incredibly high speed, enough to send both cars careening sideways across the asphalt, suddenly and terrifyingly out of control.

The steering wheel tearing out of his hands, Steve felt a blinding pain shoot through his lower right arm and he knew his wrist had snapped in the split second before the tan sedan hurtled across the freeway toward the concrete guardrail. Instinctively, his foot slammed down onto the brake pedal, the rear lights illuminating the black night but the brakes could do little to stop the momentum as the car slid violently across the pavement.

Mike, without enough time to brace himself, grabbed in vain for the dashboard before he was thrown heavily against the door, his head smashing through the side window as the car slid broadside, two tires popping before it slammed right side first into the low concrete wall.

The Imperial slewed across the tarmac in the other direction, turning almost a hundred and eighty degrees before plowing trunk first into the barrier on the other side of the freeway.

In a second it was all over. Both cars were crumpled masses of broken glass and tangled metal; oil and gas dripped onto the asphalt. Boiling radiator water hissed as it escaped into the cooling night air. But nobody in either car could hear it.

# # # # #

Two SFPD black-and-whites, sirens blaring and lights flashing, raced up the ramp onto the elevated freeway. The four officers inside expected to see the receding taillights of the unmarked car as the chase turned towards the Bay Bridge; instead, in the not too far distance, they could see the wreckage of the two large sedans.

Sergeant Gary Walters turned his wide-eyed stare briefly towards his partner as he fumbled for the radio. Hardly able to find his voice, he ordered fire trucks, ambulances, tow trucks and more back-up as the two cruisers slid to tire-squealing stops several yards before the crash site.

The smell of gasoline and burning rubber hung heavily in the air as all four officers bolted from the cars and started towards the two wrecks on either side of the double-lane highway. The three younger officers hesitated and looked at the sergeant. 

Walters quickly surveyed the scene, his heart in his mouth, then nodded firmly. “We can’t wait for the fire trucks. If any of them are still alive, we’ve gotta get them out of there before this whole place goes up.”

The four officers sprinted towards what was left of the two cars.


	7. Chapter 7

Sergeant Walters pointed at the Imperial and the team from the other cruiser sprinted towards it. Glancing grimly at his rookie partner, Walters nodded as they started for the Galaxie. He could feel his heart pounding; he knew exactly who was in the unmarked car. And though he didn’t know the young inspector personally, he and Mike went way back. He tried to take a deep breath and found he couldn’t; he was shaking too much.

In the distance, the faint but distinct sound of sirens could be heard, slowly getting louder. Almost too slowly, it seemed.

The Galaxie’s passenger side was flush against the low concrete barrier. Both left side tires were flat, tilting the car on a slight downward angle towards the pavement, now slick with gas, oil and water.

The windshield was a spider web of cracks, but they could see through the side windows as they approached the car; the driver’s head was back against the seat but there was no sign of a passenger. The sergeant’s trained eyes raked over the wreckage; he almost heaved a sigh of relief. What had seemed from a distance like a totally destroyed automobile was much more intact closer up. Contact between the two vehicles had been minimal, it seemed, the Galaxie sustaining most of its damage when it hit the guardrail. Hopefully most of the destructive energy had been spent by then… if they were lucky, Walters thought as he reached for the driver’s door handle.

The door opened easily, much to the sergeant’s relief, and he wrenched it open as wide as possible. Steve’s blood-covered head was back against the seat rest, his eyes closed, his hands lying in his lap. A large gash on his forehead just below the hairline was streaming blood down his face. Walters could see Mike lying on his left side, face down, wedged between the seat and the dashboard. Miraculously, the now battered fedora was still on his head. Neither of the homicide detectives was moving.

“Okay,” Walters ordered unsteadily, “let’s get them out.” He reached as far into the car as he could, trying to get a grip on Steve’s shoulders so he could pull him towards the door. He had just put a hand on Steve right shoulder when the injured inspector moaned. Walters froze for a split second then said quickly, “Steve, you’re gonna be okay. We’ve gonna get you out of the car fast, okay?” He took a deep breath. “It’s gonna hurt, son, I’m sorry.” 

He started to pull Steve’s upper body towards him. The moaning got louder, more pain-filled, but Walters knew had to ignore it. The smell of gas was getting stronger and the fire trucks were still nowhere to be seen. 

He pulled again, as gently as he could, turning the badly hurt young inspector so he could slide both arms under his armpits and maneuver him out from behind the wheel as carefully as possible. Sutter, the wide-eyed and rattled rookie, waited as Walters pulled Steve free of the car, then grabbed his legs. They lifted the groaning inspector and carried him as quickly as possible to the far side of their cruiser, away from the flammable liquid pooling on the pavement in an ever-widening circle.

“Sir!” a voice called from across the highway. 

As Walters and Sutter set Steve gently onto the hard pavement, the sergeant looked towards the crumpled Imperial. Beside their own cruiser, Patrolmen Gomez and Stewart were standing over an unmoving body. 

“He’s the only one!” Gomez yelled. 

Walters nodded quickly. “Good! Give us a hand, we’ve got to get the lieutenant out and he’s pinned!” He glanced back at Sutter, who had popped the trunk of their black-and-white, removed a blanket and was spreading it over the moaning and slightly writhing semi-conscious inspector.

The four officers sprinted the short distance back to the Galaxie. The wail of sirens was getting louder. Gomez, the senior officer of the second unit, glanced into the car then quickly opened the rear door and slid into the back seat. He pushed himself to the other side, then reached around to the side of the passenger seat. He looked back over his shoulder. “Turn the knob,” he instructed the sergeant, “move the seat back.”

Walters nodded, reaching for the power control that allowed the adjustment of the front seat. The driver’s side of the bench seat began to move back but the passenger side remained where it was. 

“Damn it!” Gomez cursed loudly. “Donny,” he called to his partner, “give me a hand and pull the seat back.” 

Stewart knelt on the back seat, putting both hands around the passenger side headrest, and pulled. The entire bench seat jerked back several inches.

“Whoa!” Walters yelled as he saw Mike slip off the front edge of the seat and tumble into the well between the seat and the dash. Both the badly injured lieutenant and the upholstered front seat were covered in broken glass and blood. “Let’s get him out of here, come on!”

As Stewart clambered out of the back seat, Sutter’s voice cut through the tense silence. “Sarge! Smoke!”

The other three officers looked to where Sutter was staring, at the engine of the Galaxie. Wisps of smoke were seeping around the hood, which was bent slightly upward on the right side. They all heard a quick soft ‘poof’ and a thin lick of flame suddenly appeared where the smoke had been.

They were jolted back into frenzied action. Walters nodded at his partner and the younger and stronger Sutter knelt on the front seat and reached for Mike’s shoulders, struggling to get his hands under the lieutenant’s armpits. The burly Gomez, who had crawled into the front seat from the back, was now kneeling on the passenger side seat and struggling to get one arm under the lieutenant’s legs, which were pinned awkwardly beneath the dashboard. Finally he looked up at the others and nodded. 

Noting Gomez’s success, Sutter pulled Mike up onto the seat then, with Walters reaching in to help, they began to drag him through the open door. As they hauled him free of the car, Stewart grabbed his legs and the three uniformed officers ran as quickly as they dared to the far side of the cruisers, laying him lightly on the asphalt beside his blanket-covered partner. Compassionately, Walters tipped the back brim of the fedora down before slowly and carefully lowering the lieutenant’s head to rest against it on the ground. Mike hadn’t moved.

An ambulance screamed to a stop nearby, a fire truck on its tail. Suddenly the air the pulsing with sirens as more black-and-whites and a second ambulance appeared, followed by a pumper truck and a tow truck.

Walters, Sutter, Gomez and Stewart stepped back as ambulance attendants swarmed over the scene, kneeling over the injured detectives and the occupant of the Imperial. A fire hose was attached to the side of the pumper truck and suddenly a heavy spray of water was directed first at the engine of the Galaxie and then at the pavement beneath both wrecked vehicles, quickly dousing the fire and washing away the highly flammable fluid that had accumulated.

Walters knelt down beside the attendant tending to the young inspector, who was still moaning, his eyes closed. There was blood on his lips, a development that greatly disturbed the veteran sergeant. “Steve,” he said soothingly to the young man he knew by reputation only, his voice a little louder than normal to be heard over the cacophony all around them, “you’re gonna be okay, we’re taking you to the hospital, okay…?” He tried to sound optimistic.

The attendant had removed the blanket and was assessing the young detective’s injuries. A gauze bandage had been placed over the gash on his forehead to staunch the bleeding. Walters noticed the inspector’s right forearm, his wrist swollen to twice the size, straining against the material of his shirt cuff. The attendant slid bandage scissors under the brown-and-white checked cotton of the cuff and cut it, then quickly placed a splint on the obviously broken wrist. Steve groaned even louder. Walters patted him sympathetically on the shoulder then pushed himself to his feet and crossed to where two other attendants were hovering over Mike.

There were small glass cuts on his face and blood matted the hair behind his right ear, but otherwise the lieutenant looked uninjured. That was the worrying part. With a concerned frown, Walters started to cross to his men standing over the victim from the Imperial who, like the lieutenant, was frighteningly still. A third ambulance was just pulling up, and Walters waved them in his direction.

Gomez got up from his crouch, shrugging as the sergeant joined them. “There’s no I.D. on him that I can find. I’ll run the plate as soon as I can get near enough to see it.”

“Good,” Walters agreed then turned to his partner. “Cliff, get on the horn to dispatch and find out what you can about what Mike and – ah, Lieutenant Stone and his partner were investigating tonight. Chances are we’ll find out where all this started.” As Sutter began to walk to their cruiser, the sergeant added, “And have Dispatch alert the brass, especially Captain Olsen in Homicide – let them know what’s going on.”

Mike and Steve, both in neck braces, had been lifted onto stretchers and were being wheeled towards the respective ambulances. Mike’s head had been bandaged, and the crushed and bloody fedora was lying between his feet.

“What hospital?!” Walters shouted.

One of the attendants yelled back, “St. Mary’s.” 

The uniformed sergeant looked towards Sutter at the cruiser, the radio mic to his mouth. The patrolman nodded back, relaying that information to the dispatcher.

Walters looked back at the scene, where the attendants from the newly arrived ambulance were tending to the third victim of the horrific crash. The unidentified driver was lifted and placed on a stretcher, then wheeled away. 

With a heavy sigh, the sergeant turned to his men. “Okay, fellas, let’s find out as much as we can before the brass is all over us.”

# # # # #

A few uniformed officers, who had heard Sutter’s report to Dispatch, had broken away from their patrol and headed to St. Mary’s. With worried stares, they watched as the ambulances carrying their colleagues stopped in the bay outside Emergency and the stretchers off-loaded.

When the attendants showed no overt signs of urgency, they relaxed slightly but still followed with a concerned silence until both stretchers disappeared into separate examination rooms.

When the third ambulance pulled up a few minutes later with the unconscious Imperial driver, the officers kept a respectful, if somewhat angry, distance.

It was twenty minutes later when an unmarked car with its lights flashing and siren shrieking squealed to a stop just outside the two sets of glass doors and a very worried Rudy Olsen almost jogged into Emergency. The assembly of both uniformed and plainclothes officers had grown in the interim, and the captain surveyed the group with both gratitude and consternation.

“Listen, fellas, I appreciate your concern here, but those of you who are still on duty, you need to go back on the streets, okay?” He nodded grimly, trying to smile. “I promise we’ll keep everyone up to date.” When no one moved, he raised his voice slightly. “That wasn’t a request, gentlemen.” He was only partially successful in keeping his voice non-threatening.

All the uniformed officers and about a third of the plainclothes contingent quickly disappeared. With a worried sigh, Olsen sank into a waiting room chair, hoping for the best but expecting the worst.

He lost track of time. When someone stopped in front of him, he started slightly then looked up into the apprehensive eyes of an ER doctor. Swallowing heavily, he got to his feet.


	8. Chapter 8

Captain Olsen scrambled to his feet, pushing himself up with both hands on the arms of the chair. His legs felt rubbery. The grey-haired bespectacled doctor in the green scrubs smiled slightly. “Captain Olsen?”

The cop nodded. “Yeah!” he snapped, no patience for introductions, then, realizing that’s not what this was, softened his tone. “Yes… yes, I am.”

The physician’s smile got a little wider before he quashed it; he recognized a kindred spirit. “Doctor Berman. I have some news about your colleagues. Why don’t we have a seat?” he suggested, gesturing at the chair Olsen has just occupied.

Suddenly unsure, the captain nodded as he lowered himself back down, the doctor sitting in the chair beside him. 

“They’ve both sustained multiple injuries but, from what I’ve heard about the accident, they’re in much better shape than I would’ve expected. Much better.”

Olsen exhaled loudly, shaking his head in relief but still worried. “So, ah, how bad off are they?”

“Well, the inspector has a fractured right wrist, four broken ribs and a severely bruised sternum, and a rather large laceration to his forehead. The wrist doesn’t require surgery, luckily; it’s a non-displaced fracture. But he will be in a cast for at least six weeks. The ribs will be taped, and we’ve already put twenty stitches in his forehead to close the wound.” He smiled slightly again. “Our resident plastic surgeon did it so there shouldn’t be a scar.”

Olsen smiled in spite of himself. 

The doctor continued. “He has a concussion so we’ll be monitoring him for any complications from that, but so far he seems okay. He has multiple bruises over his entire body and he’s going to be stiff and sore for quite awhile. They both are. But he’s awake and talking. He’s under the influence of some pretty strong painkillers, of course, but he’s talking to us and asking about his partner.”

Olsen nodded, encouraged but still worried. “How is the lieutenant?”

“Well, he has a dislocated right shoulder, six cracked ribs on the right side – where he hit the door, no doubt – and a laceration to his scalp just behind his right ear. His head probably went through the side window. He’s still unconscious but that’s not surprising. He’s had a CT scan and there is a slight bleed into his brain… a small subdural hematoma.” 

Olsen flinched; it sounded bad. “What, ah, what does that mean?”

Berman took a deep breath. “Well, it can mean a number of things. For now we’re just going to monitor him by taking a series of scans over the next few hours but if the bleed gets worse, we may have to get pro-active about it.”

“Meaning?”

“Well, if the bleeding really has stopped we’ll just keep an eye on him and hope he wakes up soon. However if the bleeding continues, we may have to drill burr holes into his skull to relieve the pressure. But that’s something to worry about only if it happens. Right now it seems like the bleeding has stopped. And as for any other… complications? Well, that is a possibility but again we won’t know for sure until he wakes up. There could be nothing at all and, if that’s the case, we’ll just observe him closely till the blood accumulation disappears of it’s own accord and he’ll be good to go. Right now we just have to wait and see.”

Olsen shook his head, the gesture a combination of frustration and worry. “That’s one thing I’m not good at… waiting.”

“Tell me about it,” the doctor commiserated, getting to his feet. “So, ah, is there next of kin you need to notify?”

Olsen raised his eyebrows. “Hmmm, that’s a good question…” he muttered, almost to himself. “Oh, ah, the driver of the other car. How is he?”

Berman shook his head almost angrily. “He came out of it with the least damage. He hit his head on the steering wheel and knocked himself out, but other than a bit of whiplash, which we have to keep an eye on, and a couple of loose teeth, he could walk out of here right now.”

“Well, he damn sure won’t be doing that,” Olsen stated angrily as he got to his feet, holding out his right hand for the surgeon to shake. “Thanks, Doc. I appreciate all you and ah, and everybody here have done for our fellas… and not just today.”

Beaming, Berman stood and pumped the slightly older man’s hand. “You’re very welcome, and it’s our pleasure. So, you want to be notified when the inspector can have visitors?”

Olsen nodded vigorously. “Yes… yes, please.” After he watched the doctor disappear across the waiting room, his eyes sought out the other cops in the crowded room.

He hadn’t noticed the Homicide squad members who had seemed to materialize in the few minutes he’d been talking to the doctor. They were keeping a respectful distance and he joined them, nodding his salutations, knowing they were anxious to hear about their injured colleagues. He told them much of what the doctor had relayed, the good news, leaving out the uncertainty over Mike’s head injury. That information could wait until the full extent of the lieutenant’s condition was known. He was gratified to see the tension in the room visibly decrease. 

Haseejian was the first to speak up, and the relief was evident in his voice. “Holy shit, Walters said they had to’ve been going flat out when they hit each other. How in the hell did everyone survive? How the hell did anyone survive?”

“I guess we’re gonna have to ask Steve that when we can talk to him,” Sergeant Dan Healey put in with a chuckle, more pleased at the optimistic news than he would care to admit.

“Yeah, I’ll make sure to do that,” Olsen grumbled good-naturedly, then turned his attention back to Haseejian. “So, were you able to make an I.D. on our driver?”

The Armenian sergeant nodded. “Alfred Russell,” he snickered. “His friends call him Russ, I gather. We ran his prints. He has a record. All petty stuff. His juvie record is sealed but since he came of age, so to speak, he has continued his life of crime.” The insouciance in his deep voice had everyone, including the captain, chuckling.

“And the car?” Olsen prompted.

With a grin at his partner, Healey took over. “We ran the plates. It belongs to a Mrs. Dorothy Marie Taylor. A sixty-four-year-old widow living over on 20th.”

“So what was this Russell kid doing with her car?”

“I’m sure it has something to do with the warrant Mike had me get just before all this… happened,” Haseejian offered.

“Warrant? What warrant?” Olsen growled, realizing he had been kept out of the loop.

The Armenian sergeant glanced at his partner and cleared his throat. “Ah, just before all this went down,” he gestured vaguely around the room, “Mike called me from a payphone, wanted me to get a search warrant for a garage behind a house on McAllister. He said he thought there was an Imperial in it, like the one used in the bank robbery.”

Olsen’s head went back slightly. “He said the car was in the garage?”

Haseejian shrugged, nodding vaguely. 

“So, ah, how did Mike know the Imperial was in the garage?” Olsen mused aloud, more to himself then the others, then glared at them both.

Haseejian and Healey looked at each other, shaking their heads and trying not to smile. They knew what the captain was getting at, and Haseejian masked his amusement with a cough. “Ah, he didn’t tell me how he knew, he just asked me to get the warrant asap.”

Well aware of his lieutenant’s predilection for sometimes bending the rules in the line of duty, Olsen growled to himself, vowing to have another word or two with the senior Homicide detective when all this was over and things were back to normal. If things ever get back to normal, he thought morosely, trying to keep the worry from showing on his face.

# # # # #

Olsen crossed quietly to the bed, almost reluctant to disturb the motionless man on the slightly raised mattress. Despite the bulky cast on his right forearm and the gauze bandage around his head, Steve looked almost comfortable and, more importantly, pain-free. 

The captain was having second thoughts and was about to walk away when the young man suddenly opened his eyes, and he froze, as if caught. “Oh, ah,” Olsen chuckled self-consciously, stepping back to the bed, “I, ah, I just wanted to see if you were okay…”

Despite the pain, Steve managed a slight smile. “Hurts…” he admitted, trying to put a light touch to the word but the discomfort was obvious. He tried to mask the moan that seems to slip from his lips of its own volition. 

Olsen winced in sympathy. “I bet it does.” Almost involuntarily, he gently patted the young man’s leg. “But the doctor’s tell me you’re gonna be okay…”

Steve tried to nod then grimaced, catching his breath and closing his eyes. When he opened them again they were shadowed in worry. “Mike…?”

Olsen face brightened in what he hoped was an optimistic smile. “Don’t worry about him, he’s doing great,” he lied smoothly. “He’ll be in to see you when you feel better, I’ll bet…” There was no point in scaring the young man, he thought, and Steve was probably too out of it right now to remember what he was being told… he hoped.

He smiled again, stepping a little closer to the bed. “Listen, ah, is there someone you want me to call…? Next of kin…?”

Almost sadly, it seemed, Steve closed his eyes and shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “No, there’s no one.”

# # # # #

Dr. Alan Raynis, the resident neurosurgeon, was leaning over the ICU bed. “You said he’s been responding to commands?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the patient before him. 

The veteran nurse, standing on the other side of the bed, nodded. “He began to move his fingers a couple of hours ago, then he started to move his legs a bit. He gripped our hands when we asked him to but he hasn’t spoken and he hasn’t opened his eyes yet.”

Still studying his patient, Raynis nodded. “Lieutenant!” he said loudly. When there was no response, he tried again. “Lieutenant!”

Mike groaned and his head moved slightly. Raynis laid a hand on the left side of the older man’s chest, avoiding the damaged right ribs and shoulder, and rubbed his knuckles just below the collarbone. Groaning, Mike flinched, raising his forearms off the bed slightly. 

“Good, good,” Raynis nodded, glancing at the nurse. She smiled back. “Lieutenant… can you hear me?” he tried again.

Mike tilted his head back on the pillow almost as far as it would go, his eyes still closed, and moaned. His mouth opened. “Yeah… yeah…” His voice was low and breathless. 

“Very good,” the doctor said, genuine relief in his voice. “Lieutenant, I’m Doctor Raynis and I’ll be looking after you. Do you remember what happened?”

There was a moment of stillness and silence, followed by a quiet and pain-filled, “No…”

“You were in a very serious car accident, Lieutenant. You’re in the hospital.”

“It… hurts…”

“We’re gonna give you something for the pain, but we have to do some tests first, okay?”

His eyes still squeezed tightly shut, Mike nodded, his contorted features reflecting the obvious discomfort he was experiencing. 

Raynis put his hand in Mike’s. “I want you to squeeze my hand as hard as you can.” The injured man did so; the doctor looked across the bed and nodded.

“Lieutenant, I’m Nurse Snyder,” she said soothingly, putting her hand in Mike’s other one. “Can you squeeze my hand too?” When he did so, she looked up at Raynis and smiled.

“That’s very good, Lieutenant. Can you tell me your name?” Raynis asked, his tone light and encouraging. 

Mike groaned, a breath escaping in a small gasp before he said, “Mike… Mike Stone…”

“Great.” Raynis took a medical penlight out of his whitecoat pocket and snapped it on. “Now, can you open your eyes for us, Mike?”

Slowly, the injured man did so. Raynis began to lean over the bed to take a closer look when Mike suddenly gasped, his eyes widening. Raynis froze. “What is it?”

“I can’t see…” Mike’s voice cracked, “I can’t see…”


	9. Chapter 9

His breaths rapid and shallow, Mike turned his terrified eyes towards the doctor. “My right eye… I can’t see anything…”

Raynis laid a comforting hand gently on the detective’s chest. “Relax, Lieutenant… relax… please…” he soothed calmly. “This is not totally unexpected and it will clear up… you’ll get your sight back, I promise…”

Slowly, continuing to stare fearfully at the young neurosurgeon, Mike’s breaths became deeper and longer and he sank back against the pillow with a pain-filled gasp. “My chest hurts…” he moaned, closing his eyes again, his left hand moving slowly towards his right shoulder, trying to breathe in shallow gasps. Suddenly his eyes shot open. “Steve…”

The doctor glanced at the nurse and she nodded. Leaning over the bed, she said firmly, “Your partner is going to be fine, Lieutenant. He’s already been moved into a private room.”

Mike fixed her with a frightened stare and she patted his arm gently.

“He has some broken ribs, a broken wrist and a cut on his forehead, but he’s doing very well. He’s going to be fine. You’ll be able to see him soon.” She smiled encouragingly and watched as the fear slowly drained from his face. He seemed to believe what she was telling him.

Raynis smiled slightly. “So,” he began, waiting till the detective turned his almost overwhelmed blue-eyed stare in his direction, “before I tell you what’s happening with your right eye, let me tell you what else we have to do. Is that all right?”

Sighing loudly and closing his eyes again, Mike nodded, his face contorted in pain.

“You have some cracked ribs on your right side, and your right shoulder was dislocated. We got it back in the socket but we have to strap you up so you don’t move it and to allow it to heal. And we couldn’t do that while you were unconscious. We wanted to make sure when we do immobilize it that it doesn’t aggravate your injured ribs or cause you any unnecessary pain.” Raynis paused, increasing the pressure of his hand on the injured man’s chest. “We’re gonna you give you some strong painkillers so you shouldn’t be in too much discomfort. Is that all right?”

Mike nodded again. “Yeah…

“Now, about your eye… you took a hard blow to the back of the head. Do you remember hitting the side window during the crash?”

Mike slowly opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. The doctor could tell he was trying to remember but it was obvious he wasn’t having any luck. He shook his head slightly. “No…” he breathed softly.

“Well, you hit the lower right side of your skull, the area called the occipital lobes. That’s the part of the brain the controls what we see and how we see it. You don’t have anything wrong with your eye itself… the difficulty you’re experiencing right now is pressure on the optical cortex in that part of your brain. You sustained a small bleed into the area between your skull and your brain, what we call a subdural hematoma, and that’s putting pressure on your optical cortex. And that’s what’s causing the blindness.” Raynis gently patted Mike’s chest. “The bleeding has already stopped, and when the swelling goes down, your vision will come back. I promise.”

Mike was still staring at the ceiling, blinking quickly to dispel the moisture that was building in his eyes. He softly cleared his throat. “How, ah, how long is that gonna take?”

Raynis took a deep breath. “Well, we have no idea about that. It could be in a day or so, or it could be a couple of weeks. Everybody’s different. But it will come back… don’t worry. Okay?”

Mike closed his eyes again and nodded. 

Raynis glanced at the nurse and tilted his head, exhaling loudly. He smiled grimly and she nodded. “So, ah,” he said slightly louder than he intended, “how about we give you that strong pain medication so we can take care of your shoulder? How does that sound?”

Mike nodded slowly but didn’t open his eyes. “Yeah, why not…” he said softly, and the doctor and nurse exchanged worried frowns.

# # # # #

Steve slowly opened his eyes to see Norm Haseejian standing over the bed. Despite the throbbing in his chest and the headache, a smile appeared on his lips. The sergeant chuckled. “I bet I’m the last mug you expected to see when you woke up, hunh?”

The younger man managed to raise his eyebrows slightly, even though his forehead was still partially immobile from the local anesthetic he’d received before the hairline laceration had been stitched. 

Grinning, Haseejian gestured with his chin. “How’re ya feeling?”

“Terrible. What do you expect?”

“Hey, you came out of that mess alive… I think terrible is great, all things considered.” He was rewarded with a facial shrug then a worried stare. 

“I know I’m going to be okay,” the younger man said quietly, “but I haven’t heard anything about Mike, except that he’s in here somewhere. Do you know how he is?”

Hoping to keep the concern from his face, Haseejian smiled. “He’s doin’ great, just like you are. They’ve got him in ICU because he hit his head in the accident but he’s gonna be okay. He’s awake and they’ve been talking to him. He asked about you,” he finished with a smile.

Steve was staring at his colleague, knowing his wasn’t being told the entire truth. “He only hit his head?” he asked skeptically.

Haseejian rolled his eyes slightly, exhaling loudly, knowing he’d been caught out. “He has a few cracked ribs and a dislocated shoulder. But that’s it, Scout’s honor!”

The younger man stiffened slightly, his gaze briefly unfocusing. 

The sergeant frowned. “What?”

Steve shook his head slightly. “Nothing…” He snorted slightly. “Mike said that to Rudy recently… just about promising we’d take a break if we got too exhausted…”

“Did you?”

“Did we what?”

“Did you take any kind of a break before the accident?”

Steve stared at his colleague for a couple of long seconds before his head bobbled. “Sort of…”

“What do you mean, ‘sort of’?”

“We both caught about an hour at the Hall around midnight and then I caught some zee’s in the car before the Imperial did a runner.”

“So what you’re saying is that the two of you were ‘running on empty’, so to speak?” The question was carefully worded.

Steve frowned. “What are you getting at, Norm?”

Haseejian stared at him evenly then inhaled sharply. “Listen, kid, the accident reconstruction guys had a look at the scene… and they said that you hit the Imperial from behind, on the left fender, with the right front grill of the Galaxie. The impact spun you both out of control.” He paused and continued to stare. “Were they right?”

Confused, Steve nodded tentatively. “Yeah, they were… What difference does it make what I did?”

“Did Mike approve the move?”

Frowning, the assistant inspector hesitated before he answered, “Yes. He told me to do whatever I had to do. Why?”

Haseejian dropped his head and shrugged noncommittally then looked up and met the worried hazel eyes evenly. “There’s talk that you might have used ‘excessive force’… that you were lucky you and Mike and whoever the hell was in the other car essentially walked away from what could have been a multiple-fatality accident that didn’t have to happen in the first place.”

“What?” Steve stammered, almost too stunned and angry to get the word out. “We were chasing a car that was used in a bank robbery that resulted in a murder, and if he gotten to the Bay Bridge we would’ve lost him. I’m pretty sure the Imperial could’ve outrun the Galaxie… and whoever was driving that Imperial was good, very good.”

“Did you know with absolute certainty that that was the same Imperial that was used in the bank robbery?”

Steve hesitated, somehow knowing he was walking into a trap that neither of them wanted to spring. He inhaled carefully and pointedly. “No, we didn’t. You know full well that when Mike called you for the warrant we’d only seen the car through the garage window… that we didn’t have a license plate or VIN number. And even if we did, all that would prove was the car belonged to Baker’s grandmother.”

“That lady over on 20th, right?” Haseejian’s tone was even.

The younger man nodded. “Yeah.” A silence lengthened between them as Haseejian looked down and Steve stared at the top of his balding head. “What the hell is going on, Norm?”

The middle-aged sergeant raised his head and sighed. “Some of the brass are making noises about… well, about the fact that you found it necessary to set in motion a potentially fatal scenario while chasing a car that, up until that moment and, to be honest, still is… chasing a car that has yet to be linked in any way to that Stockton bank robbery.”

“He ran, Norm, he ran. If that doesn’t spell guilty, I don’t know what does, do you?”

“Do you think maybe he ran because you were chasing him? A cop car with lights and sirens, in the middle of the night?”

“Then why didn’t he stop? If he’s so innocent, why didn’t he stop when we first came up behind him?” Steve was getting more upset by the second and was having a hard time keeping the rising ire out of his voice.

“Because he was high!” Haseejian shot back, partly in frustration but mostly because he was perturbed at being placed in the role of accuser. He was extremely uncomfortable.

Steve froze, frowning. “What? What are you talking about? What do you mean high?”

“I mean high. That’s why he’s only got whiplash and some broken teeth. He’d been smoking pot all night… the guys on the scene – the guys that helped pull you and Mike out of the car…? They said they could smell it the second they got to the Imperial.”

Steve looked down at the blanket, shaking his head in disbelief. “High…? He handled that car like a pro…” He looked back up at his colleague. “How could he do that, drive like he did…? I mean, you know, back at Berkeley, I smoked my share of weed… and I wouldn’t’ve wanted to get behind the wheel… it’s almost worse than being drunk…”

“Well, maybe adrenaline… being chased by a cop car… is better than a cup of coffee to sober someone up,” Haseejian snorted.

Steve almost chuckled then his eyes narrowed. “What’s the kid saying?”

“Saying? He’s not saying anything yet. His father got him a lawyer and all we’re hearing right now is how the family is going to sue the department for reckless endangerment.”

Steve started to sit up, suddenly very angry, but his broken ribs and bruised sternum brought him quickly back to reality and he slumped back onto the bed, wincing. 

“Easy, kid,” the sergeant soothed, putting a restraining hand on the younger man’s arm. “Don’t worry, nobody believes that’s what happened. At least, nobody I’ve talked to anyway. Who knows what the hell the brass thinks…”

Steve stared at the ceiling, trying to control his fury by taking short, shallow breaths. He was stunned, the accusation of malfeasance coming out of left field, or so it seemed. 

“Norm,” he said finally, aware that his colleague had been standing quietly by, waiting for the younger man to get a grip on his roiling, and conflicting, emotions. “Norm, I want to talk to Mike.”

The sergeant shook his head somberly. “Sorry, Steve, that’s not gonna happen. You have to be formally interviewed separately first.” He paused, then added quietly, “Besides, you’re not capable of going anywhere, at least for a while yet, and neither is he.”


	10. Chapter 10

“God damn it, I hated doing that,” Haseejian growled angrily as he slumped in the passenger seat of the green Galaxie. 

“Yeah, I can imagine,” Healey commiserated from behind the wheel, glancing over with a sympathetic shake of his head. “I don’t blame Steve for being so mad – I would be too. My god, both of them were almost killed.”

“And, god damn it, I had the warrant. I was minutes, if not seconds, away from radioing Mike.”

“I know. But that doesn’t alter the fact that when they went after the Imperial, they had no legal right, just a gut instinct.”

A heavy silence hung in the air around them for several long seconds. Then the Armenian sergeant offered tentatively, “I could lie… I could tell them I’d already told Mike I had the warrant –“

“Don’t even think about it!” Healey shot back, cutting a worried glance across the front seat. “It would mean you’d have to get to Mike before IA talked to him to get him to comply - which I don’t think he’d do, by the way,” he emphasized pointedly, “and if the two of you were caught in a lie, he’d be demoted and you’re probably be canned. So don’t even think about it, all right?”

Haseejian had been staring at his partner with an angry frown. When Healey finished talking, he took a beat, cleared his throat then spat out. “Yeah, all right. But damn it, Dan, we gotta do something. That ambulance-chaser Campbell is good. You know who he is, right? He’s the guy that got a hundred thou for that drunk that got hit by the bus, remember? Even though he walked into the street in the middle of the night, all in black? The driver didn’t even have a chance… and it wasn’t his fault but Campbell managed to ruin that guy’s life.” He snorted derisively.

“Well,” Healey said slowly as he turned the Galaxie into the Hall of Justice parking lot, “we’ve gotta be careful, no doubt about that, but what I want to do is find out how the kid in the Imperial is linked to the bank robbery. And the sooner we do that, the sooner we can get Mike and Steve exonerated.” 

As the car pulled to a stop in a parking space, Haseejian nodded grimly. “Yeah… yeah, you’re right. Let’s nail the little bastard… legally.”

# # # # #

“Rudy, when can I see Mike?”

Olsen looked at the young inspector with as warm a smile as he could muster. “Not for a while yet, I’m afraid. The doctors don’t want you moving around quite yet, I’ve been told, and neither can he, so you’re just going to have to wait. Besides, the guys from IA have to interview you both first, remember?”

Steve nodded carefully, trying not to jar his throbbing ribs, every breath still a challenge despite the pain medication he was constantly receiving. “When is that going to happen?”

“Today hopefully…” The captain shrugged.

“How is he?”

“Who – Mike?” The younger man stared at him with diminishing patience. “Oh, ah, well, he’s doing okay, same as you.”

“Rudy…” There was as much veiled threat in the tone as Steve dared to impart; this man was, after all, his superior officer, a rank higher than his partner even.

The captain sighed. He knew he couldn’t continue to evade and he wasn’t about to lie. “He, ah, he has some bleeding on the brain –“ He saw Steve stiffen in alarm and continued quickly. “- but it’s stopped, they think, and he’s starting to get better, but they want to keep a close eye on him for a few days, just to be on the safe side.” He finished with a small reassuring smile.

As the worried green eyes bored into him, Olsen shifted uncomfortably. “Listen, ah, why don’t I try to use whatever influence I have and get you in to see him. How does that sound?”

Unblinking, continuing to stare, his chest starting to heave slightly, Steve eventually nodded. The captain reached out and patted his arm. “I’ll, ah, I’ll go and look into that, right now…” he said quietly as he started towards the door. He looked back and nodded encouragingly.

Out in the corridor, he hung his head and sighed heavily. With all the self-reproach the boy was already carrying about the accident, he couldn’t bring himself to tell him about Mike’s partial blindness, even if it was temporary. But if there was anything he could do about getting them together, even for only a few minutes, it would go a long way towards assuaging a lot of the guilt that seemed to shroud everyone at the moment.

# # # # #

“Matthew Alan Delancy!” Haseejian bellowed as he dropped a thin file folder onto the desk in front of his partner, who, slapping a palm over the receiver up to his ear, frowned in annoyance. 

“Yes,” Healey said into the phone after removing his hand, “yes, I’ll get back to you on that as soon as I can… Yes…” He hung up, glaring at Haseejian. “Who the hell is Matthew Alan Delancy?”

“He, my friend, is – was – the other occupant of the house on McAllister when our friend Russell took the flyer in the Imperial. The, ah, the pot supplier, I’m guessing, but who the hell knows.” He gestured at the file.

Frowning, aware from long experience that he was being set up, Healey picked up the thin folder and opened it. It was empty. 

With a broad grin, the Armenian sergeant dropped heavily into the guest chair. 

Healey stared at him with an annoyed frown, tossing the empty file back on the table. “So you’re trying to tell me Delancy doesn’t have a record or what?”

“I’m telling you that Delancy seems like a choir boy. Not even a traffic ticket. And he’s twenty-six. He may be a closet pot-smoker, and possibly a flying-under-the-radar dealer, but he’s not a felon and chances are he’s not a bank robber or a murderer.”

“Twenty-six?” Healey repeated and his partner nodded. “That makes him quite a bit older than the guys this Baker dude supposedly hangs with, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Haseejian agreed, drawing out the word, both of them contemplating the implications. “So what the hell was he doing hanging around with Russell? And why in the hell did Delancy have Baker’s grandmother’s car in his garage? And where was Baker?”

“Umh-humh… all very good questions. And questions we have to get answers to, and fast, if we want to get Mike and Steve off the hook, right? Nobody’s lawyers’re gonna tell us, are they? So, let’s get off our duffs, as Mike would say, and get to work.”

With a sober, confirming nod, Haseejian got to his feet and followed his already departing partner out the Homicide office door.

# # # # #

Olsen walked through the heavy glass-paneled door of the ICU and crossed towards a cubicle at the back. He quickly became aware of a flurry of activity in the small room he was heading for and his heart started to pound. 

As he got closer, he could see several people wearing surgical gowns, gloves and masks standing over the bed. A nurse intercepted him before he could cross the threshold into the room.

“I’m sorry, you can’t go in there right now.”

Olsen looked at her quickly, his brow knit in worry. “What’s going on?”

She pulled him away from the door and he followed stiffly, almost reluctantly. “The lieutenant suffered an increase in the pressure inside his skull –“

“I thought they said the bleeding had stopped?” he interrupted anxiously.

She nodded. “That was what we thought, but further scans indicated that the bleeding had only slowed and not stopped. The pressure became too much and the lieutenant lost consciousness about an hour ago. And the decision was made to relieve the pressure on his brain in the hopes that it will stop the bleeding.”

Olsen glanced back over his shoulder towards the cubicle. “They’re operating on him in there?” he stammered in disbelief.

The nurse nodded again, this time with a slight smile. “It’s not considered life threatening and can be done under local anesthesia. As a matter of fact, they’re almost done.”

Olsen swallowed heavily. “Is he awake?”

“No. No,” she said softly, “he’s still unconscious, but now that the pressure has been relieved, he should wake up soon.”

“So, ah, so what happens next?”

“Well, we’ll keep him here in the ICU for the next several days, make sure the bleeding does stop and that there are no further complications, and then he can go home.” He wrapped her hand around his upper arm and squeezed. “He’s in good hands, Captain, and he’s going to be okay…”

Overwhelmed, Olsen raised a hand to cover his mouth. He nodded unsteadily. How in the hell was he going to explain this to Steve?

He felt a tug on his arm and he looked at the nurse again. “Do you want me to tell you what they’re doing? It might make you feel a little better about what’s going on…” she said kindly, and smiled when he nodded.

# # # # # 

“Hey, just thought I’d let you guys know,” Inspector Bill Tanner glanced up from his desk as Healey and Haseejian came through the Homicide office door, “all but eighteen Imperials have been eliminated from our list. And,” he took a sheet of paper and turned it around on his desk so they could read it, “these are the names of Baker’s… chums.”

Haseejian snorted as he glanced at his partner before picking up the list. “Calvin Young and Alfred Russell.” He glanced up at Healey then looked at Tanner. “We already know about Russell, he was the one driving the Imperial.” He looked at the list again. “Calvin Young, hunh? It says here ‘no record, no wants, no warrants’. So, what, this guy’s a choir boy too?”

“Too?” Tanner asked, glancing at Healey with raised eyebrows.

“Thanks to that warrant, which was a little too late in coming,” the Irish sergeant sighed in frustration, “we’ve, ah… detained the guy that was in the McAllister house when Russell decided he had to get outa town so fast. He’s not –“ he glanced at the list, “Calvin Young, and he has no record either, not even a parking or a jaywalking ticket in his entire twenty-six year old life.” He looked at his partner and chuckled. “I didn’t think that was possible.”

Haseejian snickered. “Neither did I.” 

Tanner harrumphed, then raised his eyebrows. “Has he lived here in The City all his life?”

Healey looked at his partner, eyes widening. Haseejian smirked. “You know, now I realize why we keep this guy around.”

Chuckling, Tanner turned back to a report on his desk as the two sergeants headed toward their own desks. Tanner looked over at Assistant Inspector Lee Lessing and grinned. “Sometimes you gotta give the old guys a push in the right direction…” he chuckled evilly and the younger man joined in.

# # # # #

Uncharacteristically insecure, Captain Rudy Olsen stood outside Steve Keller’s hospital room, rebating with himself as to whether he should go in or not. He knew the unseasoned inspector was already consumed with guilt about the accident on the Embarcadero that could have easily ended more tragically than it began. And he had no doubt that although the decision to take out the fleeing Imperial, by any means possible, had been sanctioned by his superior, it was an action that the young detective now regretted more than anything.

And the fact that there was now a potential reckless endangerment charge hanging over his head only increased the burden on the affable and gifted young man’s slender shoulders. He didn’t want to add another millstone, but it wouldn’t be fair to anyone if he kept one partner in the dark about the other.

Pasting what he hoped was a passively optimistic look on his weathered face, he pushed open the heavy wooden door and entered the quiet room. Steve was lying back against the partially raised bedhead, his eyes closed, his left hand supporting the cast on his right. He opened his eyes when he heard the door open, his expression remaining neutral.

The captain approached the bed, the smile getting a little wider. “Hey… how are you feeling? Any better?”

Steve’s eyebrows knit as he stared at the older man. “What’s wrong, Rudy?”

Damn, the older man cursed to himself. The lieutenant had taught his protégé a little too well. Allowing his smile to wan, he swallowed guiltily. “Listen, ah, Mike’s had a bit of a setback,” he began reluctantly.


	11. Chapter 11

Steve’s stress-filled eyes widened and he tried to sit up a little straighter, only to be overwhelmed by the pain and forced to sink back against the mattress. “What do you mean a setback?” he demanded through gritted teeth.

Olsen exhaled deeply, flashing a brief encouraging smile. “The doctors assure me he’s going to be okay. I even got to spend a minute or two with him just now –“

“What setback, Rudy?”

The captain stared at the young man without moving then dropped his eyes and sighed. “Remember I told you Mike has a little bleeding on the brain... and they thought it had stopped…?”

Steve nodded stiffly, not taking his eyes from the older man’s face. 

Olsen shuffled, averting his gaze momentarily. “Well, it, ah, it hadn’t and the blood started to press against his brain and he lost consciousness.”

Steve didn’t move but Olsen could hear a ragged inhale and see moisture spring to the young man’s eyes. He swallowed heavily before he continued.

“They, ah, they had to put a hole in his skull… they call it a burr hole. They drilled a little hole into his skull then used a scalpel to slice a little incision into the, ah, the membrane that covers the brain. That’s where the blood gets trapped, you see… and they drained the blood out.” He shrugged and tried a slight, awe-laced smiled. “They, ah, they put a stitch in to sew up the hole and they put a bandage on his head and he’s already starting to wake up.”

Steve stared at his superior officer evenly, his expression unreadable, but Olsen could see the fear and worry in his eyes. Finally he found his voice. “Was he awake when you were with him?”

Regretfully, Olsen shook his head. “No… no, but he was starting to move his hands and legs a bit. And, like I said, the doctors told me he’s doing great and he should be fully awake soon.”

Steve looked away, blinking quickly. “The bleeding… has the bleeding stopped?”

“Well, they won’t know that until they take the next CT scan, but they seem to think if it hasn’t already, it will soon. And they’re pretty smart, these doctors…” Olsen finished lightly, attempting another encouraging smile.

Steve’s eyes snapped back to him, his jaw set. “I want to see him.”

Olsen began to shake his head. “You can’t –“

“I want to see him, Captain.” There was a fierce sense of purpose in the younger man’s voice that snapped the older man’s head back. They stared at each other wordlessly for several long seconds, one in anger, the other in heartache.

Finally the older man sighed pointedly. “I asked, Steve. Honest to god, I asked. They said he can’t have visitors right now… not for a couple of hours at least. He’s being monitored very closely….” He looked away briefly, and caught his breath. “But I promise you I’ll see if I can put you in a wheelchair and take you in to see him when they say it’s okay.” He met the intense green eyes evenly. “How does that sound?”

“What about IA?”

Olsen snorted. “IA be damned. I’ll swear on a stack to them that you and Mike won’t be ‘getting your stories straight’.” He wanted to add, ‘Not that Mike’s up to it right now, anyway,’ but he didn’t want to worry the young man even more. “Will that make you happy?”

Steve took several slow deep breaths without blinking then he nodded. “Thank you,” he whispered, as if uncertain he could keep his temper if he allowed the volume of his voice to rise. He knew he was directing his anger at the wrong target, but he was too worried to care. 

Olsen nodded vaguely to himself then cleared his throat. “Ah, listen, ah, I’d like your, ah, your…” He paused, looking down and exhaling loudly. “What I mean is… look, I, ah, I haven’t called Jeannie yet… about Mike… and I don’t know if I should… I mean, I remember what he told me a couple a years ago about just that and, ah, well… What I’m asking I guess is, has he talked to you about what he wants when it comes to his daughter…?” He shrugged helplessly. “You know what I mean…”

Steve’s fury had lessened somewhat the longer the captain stammered and stuttered his way through the request and by the time the words had petered out, a ghost of a smile played over his lips. “We talked about it once, just once. He was sort of joking around but I think he was half-serious. But he said he only wanted me to call Jeannie if he was on his deathbed, that he didn’t want to worry her about every little cut and scrap.”

Olsen looked at him gratefully and snorted lightly. “Does this qualify as a cut or a scrape, do you think?”

The younger man’s smile disappeared and he swallowed nervously. “The doctors really said he’s going to be okay…?”

Olsen smiled reassuringly. “Swear to god,” he said softly.

Inhaling deeply, Steve’s lips curled into a small but grateful half-smile. “Then I’d err on the side of not calling her… for now anyway. You don’t want to face down the wrath of Stone, do you? From either of them?” 

“Oh dear god, no,” Olsen said hastily, with a short sharp laugh. “I’ve been on the receiving end of that a couple of times, from him… and I shudder to think what his offspring could do.” They chuckled companionably, then the older man reached out and patted Steve’s leg. “Listen, ah, I’m gonna let you get some rest and I’ll come back for you when they tell me Mike can have visitors, okay?”

# # # # #

“Hey, Norm!” yelled a voice down the corridor as Haseejian and Healey headed to Homicide from the elevators. The two sergeants stopped and turned. Sergeant Brady came hurrying towards them. 

“What’s up, Stan?”

Glancing at Healey, the tall black Robbery detective focused on Haseejian. “Just thought you guys needed to know. A couple of the guys in our department just got a tip about an Imperial found in a warehouse over in Oakland. They’re on their way over there now. It sounds promising.”

Both the Homicide sergeants nodded, frowning slightly. “Sure does,” Haseejian agreed. “Thanks, Stan. Keep us in the loop, will ya?”

“You bet.” Brady turned and headed back down the hallway at a jog. 

Healey looked at his partner as they crossed the few remaining feet to the Homicide office door. He raised his eyebrows. “You think maybe the Baker Imperial might be the wrong car?”

“Let’s not break the eggs before we get our hands on the chicken,” Haseejian growled as he preceded a baffled Healey, shaking his head and chuckling, into the bullpen.

# # # # #

There was soft knock on the wooden door before it opened suddenly, almost violently. Olsen backed quickly into the room, pulling a wheelchair behind him. When he cleared the door, he spun it around and looked at the bed. “See, I told ya I had some influence,” he almost crowed, smiling smugly.

Steve, who had been lying quietly with his eyes closed, was staring at him with an almost anticipatory smile. “I can see Mike?” he asked quietly.

The captain nodded. “Only for a few minutes,” he explained, “he needs to rest. But the doctors said your visit’ll do him good.” Not to mention what it will do for you, he thought, his usually hard glare soft and warm.

Gritting his teeth, the young man threw the light blanket off his legs and started to push himself up with his uninjured left arm.

“Here, let me help you do that,” Olsen muttered as he stepped quickly to the bed and gave what assistance he could. 

Holding his breath as he slid off the bed and caught his balance, trying not to give in to the pain of the broken ribs, Steve offered little resistance when Olsen helped him into the light blue hospital dressing gown, draping it over his right shoulder and doing up the belt, and then got him into the chair and out the door.

As Olsen pushed the wheelchair toward the elevators, Steve asked quietly, “Is he awake?”

“Mike? Well, he was when I left him a few minutes ago.”

“Does he know I’m coming?”

Olsen hesitated only a fraction before he shook his head, smiling slightly. “No, I, ah, I thought we’d surprise him.” Olsen pushed the Down button.

Steve nodded, his eyes clouding over as he turned back towards the still closed elevator doors. 

Olsen stared at him. ‘You have no idea how much he needs you right now, young man,’ he thought grimly to himself.

# # # # #

Steve’s heart began to pound as Olsen pushed him through the heavy wood-and-glass door and past the busy nurse’s station towards the cubicle at the rear of large, bustling yet eerily quiet room. All around him he could hear the beeps of various monitors. Some of the many cubicles that lined the walls were dark, other brightly lit.

The one they were heading for was bright.

He could see the monitors, wires, tubes and IV pole with a bag of clear fluid before they got to the entrance and his mouth suddenly went dry. The entrance was slightly to the left of the bed and, after nodding amiably to the nurse who was exiting the cubicle next door, Olsen pushed the wheelchair into the small room, maneuvering it, somewhat awkwardly, to the far side of the bed.

If Steve was suspicious of the move, he didn’t show it as his eyes were fixed on the large hospital bed and its stationary occupant.

Mike’s head, his face still marked with small scabs from the glass cuts he’d suffered during the accident, was turned slightly to the left, his eyes closed. He showed no sign that he knew they were there.

“Listen, ah,” Olsen whispered, laying a gentle hand on Steve’s shoulder and giving it a quick, reassuring squeeze, “I’m gonna leave you two alone. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He felt and saw the younger man nod then turned away and left the room.

Swallowing heavily, unable to mask his growing concern, Steve studied his partner. He could see the edge of the gauze bandage on the back of the older man’s head, just above his neck, no doubt covering the burr hole that had been drilled into his skull. He shuddered at the thought as he eyes travelled to bulge on the right side of Mike’s torso; under the blanket, his arm was strapped to his chest to keep his dislocated shoulder immobilized. Mike’s left arm, uncovered, was lying at his side, palm up, an IV line in the vein just below his elbow. 

Slowly and tenderly, Steve reached out and slipped his hand into Mike’s. He heard a small groan; then his partner’s head moved slightly as the craggy features creased into a warm smile and he opened his eyes.


	12. Chapter 12

Mike’s smile widened as his eyes grew bright. He felt the hand in his tighten its grip and closed his fingers as much as he could. “Boy, am I glad to see you,” he said as energetically as he could, noticing how worried his young partner looked. 

“I’m glad to see you too,” Steve whispered, finally finding his voice. The enormity of what they’d both been lucky enough to survive flooded over him and for a few silent seconds, all he could do was stare. 

Mike tried to blink away the tears. His gaze slowly travelled from his young partner’s eyes to the bandage on his forehead. “Are you okay?” he asked softly, trying to mask the weakness in his voice.

Smiling, Steve nodded slowly. “Yeah… they had to put in twenty stitches but they told me it won’t leave a scar.” He raised his eyebrows and shrugged, still smiling. “We’ll have to wait and see about that.”

The older man frowned. “Why are you in a wheelchair?”

Steve snorted self-consciously, giving Mike’s hand another squeeze. “I broke some ribs and my right wrist… And I think the rest of my body is one big bruise,” he chuckled gently.

Mike gave a quiet but sharp, short laugh and nodded carefully, briefly closing his eyes. “I know the feeling.”

Both shaking their hands slightly, Steve knew he couldn’t keep the worry out of his voice when he asked, “How are you feeling?”

Snorting softly and closing his eyes again, Mike sighed. “I’m not going to lie to you, I feel like hell… everything hurts… especially my head…” He felt his hand squeezed again. “But the doctors assured me I’m going in the right direction… finally… so…?”

Steve felt his heart constrict; since they had become partners, he’d never heard Mike admit so easily to any physical injury or malady. It scared him. He took a long second or two to swallow heavily in an attempt to steady his voice before he spoke. He shook Mike’s hand again. “I, ah, I hear you’ve got a hole in your head…” he chuckled softly and watched as the older man’s eyes opened slowly and his lips curled into a gentle smile.

“I was wondering how long it was gonna take you to say that,” he whined softly, staring at his young partner with unabashed affection, wrapping his fingers tighter around Steve’s hand. They stared at each other for several beats, neither moving, then Mike slowly closed his eyes again. Steve caught his breath and bit his bottom lip. 

“Excuse me,” came a gentle but firm unfamiliar male voice from the doorway. Steve looked over his shoulder. A young man wearing light blue scrubs was standing at the entrance. “I’m sorry but Mr. Stone has to go for another scan,” he shrugged almost apologetically. 

Olsen immediately appeared in the doorway behind the orderly, and Steve realized the captain had been standing just outside the door, no doubt listening, as best he could, to their conversation. Clearing his throat lightly to get the orderly’s attention, Olsen stepped deeper into the room, moving behind the wheelchair. 

Steve looked back at the bed; Mike’s eyes were still closed, unaware or unable to respond to what was going on around him. Reluctantly releasing the grip on his partner’s hand, Steve allowed himself to be wheeled towards the door. A second orderly had appeared and the pair moved to the bed, one of them unlocking the wheels while the other removed the IV line from the cannula in Mike’s forearm.

Olsen pulled the wheelchair backwards through the cubicle doorway into the main room then close to the nurse’s station and stopped. They both watched as the large hospital bed with their injured colleague was wheeled past them and out through the large wooden-and-glass door.

Without a word, Olsen lightly dropped a hand onto Steve’s left shoulder and squeezed then started to push the chair towards the exit. The trip back to Steve’s room was made in silence. Once there, the older man assisted his young colleague out of the chair. 

When Olsen reached for the belt of the dressing gown to undo it, Steve pushed his hand away and shook his head. Nodding in understanding, the captain put a hand on the young man’s left elbow and helped him into the bed then, with an almost fatherly concern, pulled the light blanket up and smoothing it out.

The inspector was staring at the ceiling; his expression was neutral but his entire being radiated worry and pain. With a soft gentle snort of commiseration, Olsen patted Steve’s arm and took a few steps back, watching in silence, trying to think of something he could say to lessen the tremendous burden the young man was shouldering.

With a heavy sigh, he silently left the room, suddenly second guessing himself. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to get the partners together after all…

# # # # #

Healey put a hand over the mouthpiece of the black receiver and looked up at Haseejian, who had stopped at his desk on his way across the room. “I’m on the phone with OPD. They checked out that Imperial. Seems the guy who rents the warehouse has no idea whose car it is, so OPD is running the VIN and plate and dusting it for prints –“ He lifted his hand quickly, his attention back on the phone. “Yeah, I’m still here… Okay, great, thanks. I’ll be waiting. Thanks.” 

He hung up, jotted a couple of notes on the pad in front of him then looked up at his partner again. “The car seemed to have been hastily wiped down but they found a couple of good partials on the rearview and side mirrors and they’ll get back to us as soon as they have a name and address on the plate.”

Haseejian nodded. “Sounds good… I think…”

“Yeah…” Healey muttered to himself as his partner shuffled away.

# # # # #

Trying to suppress a yawn, Olsen stood at the nurse’s station in ICU, waiting. He glanced at his watch then looked towards the cubicle at the back of large room. The scan completed, Mike had been wheeled back into ICU about twenty minutes earlier.

“Captain Olsen?” a pleasant voice reached his ears and the aging police officer spun quickly to face the surprisingly young neurosurgeon. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Raynis chuckled.

“No, ah, I’m, ah, sorry,” Olsen flustered, chuckling slightly, “I just haven’t gotten much sleep in the past day or so.”

“I understand, believe me,” Raynis smiled sympathetically, squeezing the older man’s upper arm briefly. He glanced towards Mike’s cubicle before he continued. “I won’t keep you in suspense. You can relax. The latest scan shows no further bleeding into your colleague’s brain… everything’s under control. He’s on the mend and he’s gonna be okay.”

Olsen’s eyes widened slightly and he released a held breath. “He’s gonna get his sight back?”

Raynis nodded. “For sure. As a matter of fact, I’ll bet when he wakes up he should be starting to see some shapes and movement. He’ll probably have it all back within a day or so.”

Finally smiling, Olsen looked down and sighed happily. “Doctor, that is the best news I’ve had in a long time, it seems. Thank you.” He shook the surgeon’s hand. “Listen, ah,” he continued quickly, nodding towards Mike’s cubicle, “let him know I’ll be back later. There’s someone who needs a little good news right now.”

Without waiting for the doctor’s reply, Olsen headed for the door.

# # # # #

There was a nearly imperceptible knock on the door. Slowly, almost reluctantly, Steve turned his head in that direction. “Come in.”

The door opened slowly and cautiously and Captain Olsen stuck his head in. “Steve, ah, I’m sorry to disturb you again, but I have some news I think you want to know. Good news,” he added quickly, not wanting his words to be mistaken.

A glint of hope brightening his hooded and worried eyes, Steve awkwardly pushed himself up from the pillows as the captain moved deeper into the room, allowing to door to shut quietly behind him.

“What is it?”

Olsen smiled. “I just talked to Doctor Raynis, he’s the neurosurgeon that’s been looking after Mike. The latest scan came back clear. The bleeding’s stopped… Mike’s going to be okay.”

Not moving, Steve stared at him for a couple of long seconds before he blinked, his eyes suddenly moist. Then, pressing his lips together to stop them from trembling, Steve nodded sharply and quickly, blinking rapidly and looking down. He cleared his throat and swallowed heavily.

“Listen, ah, you need to get some rest…” Olsen said quickly, letting them both off the emotional hook, “and, ah, so do I,” he laughed, “so I’m gonna get outa here and go home for a few hours.” 

Steve looked up and met his eyes gratefully. Olsen chuckled self-consciously. “Look, ah, when I get back, I’ll make sure IA gets in here to see you both and then I can get you back together for a longer visit this time, okay?”

Not sure just how steady his voice would be, Steve nodded. With a warm smile, Olsen retreated to the door and pulled it open. As he was just about to step through into the corridor, he heard the quiet and heartfelt, “Thanks, Rudy.” He stopped for a split second, nodded without turning back, then stepped into the hallway.

# # # # #

The black phone on Healey’s desk rang and he picked it up before the first ring ended. “Homicide, Sergeant Healey!” he barked into the receiver. 

From his desk a few feet away, Haseejian’s head came up and he watched the one side of the somewhat lengthy conversation. Healey didn’t say much but he was nodding, his brow furrowed, and taking copious notes.

It was close to ten minutes later that the Irish sergeant finally hung up, staring at the pad on the desk before him. Finally unable to contain his curiosity, Haseejian got up and approached his partner’s desk, dropping heavily and obviously into the guest chair.

“Care to share?”

Healey’s frown swung from the pad to the curious man sitting across from him. “Well, they got some info on that Imperial and the fingerprints.” He paused, biting the inside of his cheek, the frown deepening.

Haseejian studied him, raising his eyebrows. “What?”

Sighing, Healey looked up. “You’re not gonna like this.” He paused again.

The Armenian sergeant’s eyebrows got even higher and he glared impatiently.

“Well, the Imperial was stolen from upstate about two weeks ago – from Yuba City. It belongs to an 83-year-old widow named Adela Sinclair -”

“Why didn’t she report it stolen? That would’ve flagged it for us for sure.”

Healey fired his partner an irritated glance then continued reading. “Who didn’t report it,” he emphasized sarcastically, “because she didn’t know it was stolen. Seems her husband bought it just before he passed away suddenly… heart attack… a year or so ago and she just left it in the garage behind the house. She doesn’t drive, has no interest in learning and has no kids or grandkids to give it to.” He finished with a flourish and glared at Haseejian once again, daring him to interrupt.

Wisely, his partner kept his tongue and waited.

“OPD got that from the VIN number because the plates were stolen as well… from a Volkswagen in Stockton. Probably on their way to Oakland, or here, ‘cause it’s a direct line down the 99 and the 5 from Yuba City to Stockton to the Bay Area.”

Healey paused again, for no reason other than to goad Haseejian into another outburst. When none came, he inhaled deeply and continued. But his teasing smile quickly disappeared.

“Here’s the part you’re not gonna like.” He felt Haseejian lean a little closer. “One of the partial fingerprints, which they got off the back of the driver’s side mirror, has been matched to a Robert John Rafferty. He has a record, a pretty long one.” He took another deep breath and looked up, meeting his partner’s eyes without expression. “He got out of Quentin six months ago, after serving eight years for bank robbery.”


	13. Chapter 13

“Yeah,” came the short sharp bark from the other side of the door. 

Healey turned the knob and, followed by Haseejian, stepped into the small windowless office. “Hey, Roy, you got a minute?”

Lieutenant Roy Devitt looked up from the papers on his desk, frowning. “Yeah, sure. Take a seat.” In shirtsleeves, his tie still done up, he leaned back in the swivel chair and tossed the pen onto the desk. “What can I do for you fellas?”

The Homicide sergeants glanced at each other as they sank into the two guest chairs. Healey cleared his throat. “You know, right, we’re all working on that Stockton bank robbery and murder?”

Devitt, his frown deepening, glanced from one detective to the other and nodded. “Sure…” he confirmed tentatively, leaning forward and resting both forearms against the edge of the desk. “What? Has something happened? Is this about Mike and Steve -?”

“No no no,” Healey assured quickly, raising a hand with a brief smile, and Haseejian shook his head. 

“They’re both doing a lot better. Rudy said they’re both going to be fine but it’s gonna take awhile,” the Armenian sergeant assured his colleague.

Devitt visibly relaxed for a split second then tensed again. “So what’s this all about?”

Healey glanced at his partner again. “Roy,” he said slowly, “what we’re going to tell you can’t leave this room right now. All right?”

Sitting back slowly, lacing his hands over his stomach, Devitt’s eyes snapped back and forth from one sergeant to the other, as if he was reluctant to comply. Eventually he nodded.

# # # # # 

“So, let’s start from the beginning, okay? I don’t mean the very beginning, we know about that. I mean from the time you and the lieutenant arrived at the McAllister address, and what brought you there.” The tall, thickset grey-haired IA sergeant loomed over the left side of the hospital bed.

Steve opened his eyes and nodded. He still looked like hell and he hoped his appearance would go a long way towards making this ‘interview’ as short as possible.

Sergeant Hernandez glanced at his partner, who was holding a small tape recorder. The IA inspector placed it on the overbed and pressed the Record and Play buttons simultaneously. “Go ahead.” He nodded at Steve.

“We, ah, Lieutenant Stone and I, got a lead from Dowd and Yarrow in the Gangs Unit. We’d gotten a tip about an Imperial connected to a kid with a questionable background. He had a couple of friends and it looked promising. Yarrow recognized one of this kid’s friends from busting him a couple of years ago. He gave us the friend’s address on McAllister. So we went over there. It was around midnight.”

Steve swallowed, his mouth dry, and he reached for the glass of water on the bedside table. The IA detectives waited. 

“There was a garage up a short driveway beside the house –“

“It wasn’t accessible from the sidewalk?” Hernandez asked, his voice neutral.

Steve glanced up and shook his head, then looked down at the bed again. 

“So how did you know the Imperial was in there?”

Steve hesitated for a long second then lightly cleared his throat. “We didn’t. But it was big enough to hide one so we, ah, we went down the driveway and looked through the windows in the garage door.”

Hernandez looked at his partner for a split second. “We’ve seen the door. The windows are too high to see in without some… assistance…”

“The, ah, the lieutenant boosted me up so I could look in. It just took a split second.”

“You did know that was private property and you didn’t have a warrant, did you not?”

“Yes, we both realized that, but exigent circumstances… We called in for a warrant immediately afterwards.”

Hernandez waited several seconds before continuing, allowing the implications of the admission to register.

“All right, so what happened next?”

“Lieutenant Stone went to look for a payphone to call Sergeant Haseejian and give him the details for the warrant. The phone booth was a couple of blocks away. I sat in our car down the block and watched the front of the McAllister house.” He took another sip of water. “When he got back, he told me to take a quick nap while he watched the house.”

“You two had been working long hours, hadn’t you?”

“Yes. We’d just come off two cases that we closed that day when we caught the Stockton murder.”

“So… what you’re saying is, you were both a little fatigued?” Hernandez asked carefully.

“We were tired, yes. I wouldn’t say we were fatigued… but we were getting there.”

“Tired enough for it to affect your performance… your judgment?”

Steve eyes snapped to the sergeant’s face but he managed to contain his anger. “No, I don’t believe so,” he said crisply.

“All right… so what happened next?”

“I, ah, I managed to fall asleep, I guess, because the next thing I remember is Mike shaking me awake and telling me to follow the car that had just exited the driveway we were watching.”

“The Imperial?”

“Yeah, it, ah, it was running without lights but I recognized the taillights when it braked for the first turn.”

“It was definitely running?”

Steve snorted dryly. “Without lights and foot to the floor? Yeah, it was running.”

“Why do you think that was? Had they seen you and Mike in the driveway?”

“I have no idea. It was at least two hours from when we looked into the garage and when they took off.”

“Okay, so what happened then?”

Inhaling loudly and taking another sip of water, Steve continued softly, “Well, I stayed behind him as best I could. That Imperial is a pretty powerful car but I managed to gain on him. The streets were deserted at that hour so we weren’t worried about him hitting anyone.

“We couldn’t figure out where he was going at first, then it became apparent he was heading for the Embarcadero… the Beale on-ramp. Mike had radioed for back-up but we were on our own. We figured he was heading for the Bridge and we knew if he got there, he could pull away from us… That kid was a good driver…” He paused. “We were, ah, we were running out of time to stop him, and I guess we were pretty convinced that it was the Imperial we were after.”

“Whose idea was it to hit the Imperial to spin it out?”

Steve hesitated, not meeting the IA detective’s steady gaze. He cleared his throat a little louder this time. “I was driving…”

“Did the lieutenant say anything to you?”

Another hesitation. A deep inhale. “He told me to do what I had to do…”

“That’s how he put it?”

“Yes.”

It was Hernandez’ turn to pause. “So you drove the Galaxie close enough to hit the back end of the Imperial?”

“Yes.”

“And both cars spun out?”

Steve nodded, closing his eyes. “I don’t remember anything after that. I think I woke up at the scene but I don’t remember…”

Hernandez stared at him for several quiet seconds, then reached out and hit the Stop button on the small tape recorder. “You were very lucky, you know that, right? Both of you?” he said almost gently and Steve looked up in surprise, not expecting the almost overt compassion. “We saw the cars. Both of you could’ve been killed.”

Steve bobbed his head, his eyebrows rising slightly.

“Look, ah, we’ll have your statement typed up as soon as we can and get it back to you for signing. Okay?”

“Yeah. Listen, ah, are you going to see Mike now?”

Hernandez nodded. “As soon as we leave here.”

“You’ve probably been told this already, but be easy with him, okay? I was driving… I caused the wreck… and he came out it the worst of all of us…”

“Yeah, we heard. But we still have to get his statement… and you can’t see him until we do, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know that.” Steve smiled gratefully. “Thanks.” He put his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes.

The IA detectives silently left the room.

# # # # #

“So what you’re getting at, I take it, is that you’re thinking this Robert Rafferty is one of the real Stockton bank robbers, not these kids Mike and Steve were focused on. And the Imperial in that warehouse in Oakland was the getaway car, not the Imperial that was in the wreck a couple of nights ago?”

Haseejian sighed heavily. “In a nutshell… yeah…”

Devitt leaned back in the chair and looked down at his hands laced over his stomach. He sat silently for several long seconds then raised his head. “You know what this means, right?”

Both Homicide detectives in the chair on the other side of his desk nodded grimly. “It means Mike and Steve were chasing, and almost killed, an innocent kid,” Healey confirmed unhappily.

“Well, not a totally innocent kid,” Haseejian interjected quickly. “I mean, he was smoking dope and he was high behind the wheel.”

“But that’s not motive enough to put his car into a tailspin at that speed. Everybody knows that…” Devitt added soberly. The others looked at him and he exhaled loudly. “Look, ah, you said no one else knows about this Oakland Imperial yet, except you two and the OPD, right?”

Both sergeants shook their heads and Devitt frowned. 

“The tip about the Imperial in the warehouse came into Robbery. It was Stan Brady who told us about it, and a couple of their guys, Price and Grover, went over there to see the car and talk to the OPD guys about it. They gave all the information they collected to us to run with it.” Healey included his partner in a nod.

“Okay, well, this could get us in a lot of shit, really bad shit, but I want you to keep it to yourselves for the time being, all right? Tell Price and Grover that it didn’t pan out or something… anything… but I want just you guys to do the legwork on this one okay?”

After a quick glance to each other, the sergeants nodded again.

“Work with the OPD, find out everything you can about this Rafferty and this Imperial… go as far as you can go without tipping your hand. Who’s taken over working the angle Mike and Steve were investigating… the Imperial in the wreck?”

“Bill and Lee,” Healey told him.

Devitt nodded. “I’ll talk to them.” He leaned forward to reach for the phone. “Does Rudy know about the Oakland Imperial?”

Haseejian shook his head. “Not as far as we know. He’s been spending all his time at the hospital.”

“Yeah, I’ve gotta get over there myself. I haven’t had the chance yet. Have you two seen them?”

“Mike and Steve?” Healey asked, and when Devitt nodded, he shook his head. “Mike’s still in ICU, as far as we know, and Steve’s not really up to having visitors yet.”

“What about that… kid, the driver? What’s his name?” 

“Russell. Alfred Russell.”

“How’s he doing?”

“They’re releasing him today. I guess being high behind the wheel is like being drunk,” Haseejian snorted almost angrily. “You don’t tense up and you break fewer bones, if you survive it in the first place… He has to have some teeth replaced and he’s wearing a neck brace but the little prick is walking out of the hospital today.” He was having a hard time hiding the bitterness in his tone.

They all knew it would be a while still till their colleagues were well enough to return home, and their silent anger seethed.

# # # # #

“I’m not happy with this but I understand that it needs to be done,” Raynis said to the two IA detectives as the three stood outside the ICU cubicle. 

His arms folded and head down, Olsen stood quietly nearby, listening. 

“I understand, Dr. Raynis, and I promise you, we are aware of the lieutenant’s condition and we will be as brief and as… painless… as we can be.” Hernandez stared at the young neurosurgeon with a slight, understanding smile.

The doctor bit his lip, blinked a few times, then nodded once, quickly. “All right. Like I said, I’m not happy but I’ll let you go ahead. But the second, and I mean the second, the lieutenant shows any sign of discomfort and fatigue, it ends. Am I clear?”

“Crystal clear, Doctor,” Hernandez smiled, looked at Olsen and nodded, then led his colleague into the small room.

Raynis looked at Olsen and sighed in frustration.


	14. Chapter 14

IA detectives Hernandez and McCreedy quietly approached the ICU bed. Mike, under a waist-high flannelette blanket, was lying flat, his right arm strapped diagonally across his chest. His face was turned slightly to the left, the small gauge bandage covering the burr hole visible on the back of his head. He was pale, with dark circles around his closed eyes.

Hernandez glanced at his partner and gestured with his head for the younger man to put the tape recorder on the rolling table pushed against the far wall. At the soft thud of the small metal machine connecting with the white laminate top of the table, the Homicide lieutenant opened his eyes.

Hernandez stepped closer to the bed and smiled. “Lieutenant Stone, I’m Sergeant Hernandez from Internal Affairs and this is my partner, Inspector McCreedy.” He gestured towards the blond detective, who stepped around the bed so Mike could see him without moving his head. The inspector nodded with a slight smile.

Mike’s eyes slid slowly from Hernandez to McCreedy without expression, then settled back on the sergeant again. “I know who you are,” Mike said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Good,” Hernandez nodded, then looked pointedly at McCreedy, who circled the bed again, rolled the table closer to the bed and turned the tape recorder on. “Lieutenant, I know this is probably not the best time, but I think we’d all like to get this over with so we can put this whole incident to bed, so to speak, and you can get to see your partner. So, ah, if you feel up to it, could you tell us as much as you remember from the night of the accident?”

Mike stared at Hernandez with a slight frown then nodded slowly. “We, ah, we got an address from a sergeant in Gangs… I can’t remember his name right now… he works with Dowd…” His stare, which had drifted to a neutral area somewhere between the inspector and the wall, returned to the sergeant’s face almost apologetically.

“That’s okay,” Hernandez said with soft encouragement. 

Swallowing and nodding, his gaze drifting away again, Mike continued. “A place on McAllister… one of his friend’s lived there. One of Baker’s friends…” He paused and looked up again. “Do you know who Baker is?”

Hernandez nodded. “Graham Baker, yes.”

Nodding slightly in response, Mike took a deep breath then said, “There was a car in the garage… at the end of the driveway… We looked in the window, Steve did… He thought it looked like a big car… I, ah, I went to call Norm Has-,” he stopped abruptly, coughing slightly and wincing, “Haseejian to get us a warrant and then I went back to our car. About an hour later, the other car – the Imperial – it came out of the driveway full speed and we gave chase…”

He closed his eyes, his chest heaving. Hernandez looked at his partner worriedly and took a step closer to the bed. He was just about to ask McCreedy to turn off the tape recorder when Mike’s eyes opened again and, with his left hand, he reached blindly towards the bedside table. 

“Do you need some water?” Hernandez asked quickly, reaching for the plastic cup with the bendable straw. 

Mike nodded. “I have to sit up,” he said weakly and the sergeant nodded at McCreedy, who moved to the foot of the bed and began to crank the handle. When the bed was raised high enough, Mike nodded again and Hernandez held the cup so he could drink.

“Thank you,” Mike said quietly when he had finished and waited till Hernandez put the cup down before he continued. “Steve’s an incredible driver,” he smiled to himself, “and we followed the Imperial to the Embarcadero… the Beale on-ramp… We had to stop him… if he got to the bridge, we were gonna lose him… I told Steve to do what he had to do… to stop him…” 

Hernandez hesitated a beat before asking, “So… you’re saying that it was your order that Inspector Keller was following when he drove into the back of the Imperial to stop it?”

Mike stared at him silently for a couple of long seconds, knowing that the answer to this question was why these two men were standing in this room. He also knew, instinctively, that things would have been discovered since the accident about the Imperial, its driver, the McAllister house, and probably many other relevant avenues of investigation of which he was unaware.

“Yes,” he said firmly, “I gave him the order.”

# # # # #

“How do you feel?” Raynis asked, leaning over the bed, trying to keep the worry from his eyes. He had been hovering near the nurse’s station in the ICU hub, doing paperwork, the entire time the IA detectives had been talking to his patient. When they left he had hurried into the small room.

Mike smiled as he opened his eyes. “I’m okay, doc. Just a little tired.”

Raynis nodded. “Good. How’s your eye?”

The smile getting a little wider, Mike chuckled. “I am happy to say you were right. I tsill can’t really see out of it yet, but you’re now a large beige and blue blob so I guess that’s progress.”

“You bet it is,” the neurosurgeon chuckled, patting the older man’s forearm, “you bet it is.” He winked as he backed away from the bed. “Get some sleep. You need it.”

# # # # #

Devitt strode quickly through the Homicide bullpen, nodding to Tanner and Lessing as he crossed to Mike’s office. Glancing at each other with frowns, the two inspectors got up from their desks and followed. Devitt stood just inside the inner office door, his hand on the knob, and waited till the others had entered before closing the door, crossing to the far side of the desk and sitting in Mike’s chair. Tanner and Lessing sat in the two guest chairs, looking obviously confused.

“So I’ve been told you two have taken over the investigation Mike and Steve were heading, into Graham Baker and his cronies?”

Tanner glanced at Lessing before nodding. “Yeah, we have. Why?”

“I want to know everything you’ve found out so far.”

Both inspectors relaxed. Lessing leaned forward. “Well, we don’t have much to add. We haven’t found Baker yet, or the other one, Calvin Young. We’ve got eyes and ears in the street and all our CI’s are on the lookout but so far, they’re in the wind, which is very suspicious. Anyway, we did interview Matthew Delancy, the guy in the McAllister house when the Imperial did the runner.”

“What did he have to offer?”

“Not a thing. He clammed up. Said we could bust him for pot, if we were so inclined, but he couldn’t tell us anything about Alfred Russell because he didn’t have anything to tell. Claims he doesn’t even know him.”

“But Russell was in the house? How could Delancy not know who he was?”

Tanner smirked. “That’s what we asked him and we got - to quote Norm –  
bupkis. Claims there was a party going on that night and there were a lot of people there he didn’t know.”

“A party?” Devitt asked, frowning, looking from one inspector to the other. “That’s the first anybody’s heard about that, isn’t it? I mean, as far as I know, neither Mike nor Steve mentioned anything about a party going on. Didn’t Mike tell Norm the house was dark and looked empty?”

Tanner nodded and shrugged. “We’re trying to find someone, anyone, who’ll say they were there. So far, we can’t find one. And, guess what, Delancy says he was so stoned, he can’t remember who was there anyway.”

“Convenient,” Devitt growled, throwing himself back in the swivel chair angrily.

“So,” Tanner continued, “other than possession of pot, we can’t charge him with anything else right now and, to be perfectly honest, I don’t think it would be in Mike’s heart to do that, considering the severity of the other possible charges hanging over everyone else’s head – bank robbery and murder… and especially with the, ah, the questions hanging over the timing of the call for the warrant and the chase…” He let the rest of the argument hang, knowing they were all aware of the uncertainty regarding the legality of the warrant request.

 

# # # # #

It was the headache that woke him. His entire body was aching, especially his right shoulder and the right side of his chest, but the throbbing in his skull was what disturbed his sleep. He groaned, trying not to move his head as he shifted slightly to reposition his upper body in an attempt to ease the pain in his shoulder. He wasn’t successful.

Exhaling in a breathy gasp, he realized he was probably going to need to ask for more medication - a request, he knew, that had a pretty good chance of being refused. They were trying to wean him, not turn him into an addict. He almost laughed.

He was trying to slow his breathing down in an attempt to get the pain under control when he felt a warm hand slide into his and squeeze. He caught his breath in surprise then started to smile. “Your hand’s too big to be Jeannie’s,” he chuckled softly then opened his eyes and turned his head to the left.

Steve was smiling back at him. “I sure hope so,” the younger man laughed, grinning; a joking Mike was a very good sign. He squeezed his partner’s hand again. “How are you feeling?”

Mike raised his eyebrows in a shrug of inevitability. “Well, better than the last time you were here…” He frowned slightly. “You were here earlier today weren’t you… or am I losing my mind too?”

“No no, I was here,” Steve assured him with a chuckle. “You may have a hole in your head but I don’t think any of your brains leaked out.”

The older man looked at him with exasperation for several long seconds until Steve began to squirm. “Okay, so how long are you going to use that same joke… or variations of it?” 

“Oh ho ho,” the younger man laughed again, “you haven’t begun to hear my ‘Variations on a Theme’. I’m just warming up.”

Mike joined gently in the laugh, closing his eyes and grinning. “Oh god, I want to get out of here.”

“I know, but it’s gonna be awhile, you know that, right?”

Eyes still closed, Mike nodded. “I know.”

“But I heard they’re moving you out of ICU tomorrow morning, so that’s a step in the right direction.” He shook the older man’s hand encouragingly and watched him nod in agreement. “Say, ah, speaking of Jeannie…”

Mike opened his eyes and looked at him again.

“Ah, Rudy and I decided not to call her. We didn’t want to worry her.” Steve paused and looked at his partner a little guiltily. “I hope that was the right thing?” 

Staring without blinking for several nerve-racking seconds for the younger man, Mike lips finally curled into a smile and he nodded almost imperceptibly. “Yeah, you did the right thing. She’s coming up to exam time and I don’t want anything to disturb her studying… even me.” His smile wavered. “How are you doing?”

Steve grinned reassuringly. “I’m doing okay,” he answered quietly. “Everything still hurts, especially my ribs, and I still can’t take a deep breath, but it’s getting a little better every day.”

“Do you know when they’re gonna let you out?”

“Not for a couple of days, they told me. But you know, if I stay here much longer, it’s the food that’s gonna do me in. I’d kill for a pizza right now – even one of Tony’s,” he finished with a smirk and raised eyebrows. 

“Ha ha,” Mike mouthed and Steve shook his hand again, laughing. “Listen, ah,” the older man continued, “IA came to see me today. You?”

“Yeah. This morning.”

“I got the feeling they know something we don’t. Did you get that impression?”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed softly, nodding, “yeah, I did. And I have no idea what it is. Nobody’s told me anything.”

They stared at each other silently for a few very long seconds, then Mike said quietly, “I have a feeling you and I could be in a lot of trouble, buddy boy.”


	15. Chapter 15

“Well, we get to spend one night together at least,” he whispered sensuously, his eyes playing over the body laying on the bed beside him. “And, I swear to god, I won’t tell anyone. It’ll be our little secret.”

Two hooded, and now annoyed, blue eyes turned slowly in his direction. “Will you knock it off,” Mike growled good-naturedly, smiling when his partner chuckled evilly, bobbling his head. Truth be told, he was relieved to finally be out of ICU; it was welcome proof that he was indeed on the mend. His head still hurt, but the ache in his chest and shoulder was finally bearable. “Keep it up, and I’ll ask for a private room,” he sounded serious but his partner could hear the playfulness in his tone.

Steve chuckled again. “No, you won’t. You’d miss me.”

“Yeah, right… like a hole in the head,” Mike finished quickly, lifting his head, his eyebrows rising in triumph as he grinned across the divide between the two beds.

Steve’s chuckle turned into a full-throated laugh and he wagged an accusing index finger. “All right, you beat me to that one… fair enough.” 

Still grinning, Mike dropped his head back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. His smile quickly disappeared. “Steve, have you given any more thought to what IA might know about Russell and the Imperial that we don’t?”

Sobering, Steve stared at his partner’s profile. He inhaled deeply. “Yeah… yeah, I have. And other than the obvious… that he had nothing to do with the bank robbery – or the murder – and that that was wrong Imperial… well, I can’t think of anything else… can you?”

Mike slowly shook his head. “No. And that’s what I’m worried about.”

# # # # #

“Roy? Listen, I gotta make this quick. We got a tip.”

“Go on.”

“Well, one of the guys here had a CI tell him that he thinks he knows where Rafferty is holed up. It’s over here in Oakland. It’s not a hundred percent lock, but the guys here who know this CI say he’s seldom wrong. Anyway, they’re getting their SWAT team together and Norm and I are gonna go with them – strictly as observers – to see if it pans out.”

“Okay, Dan. You two be careful, you hear?”

“Don’t worry, we will be. Neither of us want to have to face the ‘wrath of Stone’ if anything goes wrong.” A deep chuckle came over the phone line.

“I hear ya. Listen, any word on Rafferty’s accomplices?”

“We’ve got a couple of names and OPD’s helping us look into them.” There were loud muffled voices in the background. “Listen, I gotta go. I’ll call ya when we get back.”

# # # # #

“I see what you mean about the food,” Mike grumbled, unable to tear his eyes away from the thin, anemic-looking pre-cut Salisbury steak, mashed potatoes and vegetable medley lying limply on the melmac plate in front of him.

“Told ya,” Steve retorted dryly. “I am so glad I’m getting out tomorrow.” Peripherally he watched his partner’s head turn slowly in his direction, brow furrowed in annoyance.

“You keep saying that.”

Steve grinned quickly. “I know. But don’t worry, I’ll bring you doggy bags or whatever. If they let me.”

“They better, or I’ll walk out of here on my own, whether they release me or not.” Mike chuckled to himself then sighed as he reached for the fork on the small white napkin.

“Hope I’m not disturbing you two,” a gravelly voice bellowed from the doorway and they both started. Neither had heard the heavy wooden door pushed open and, before they could react, Olsen was standing between the beds. He smiled at his lieutenant. “Good to see you out of ICU, Mike. How are you feeling?”

Glancing at Steve with a knowing wink, and using the unexpected presence as an excuse, Mike put the fork down and pushed the rolling table away slightly. “I’m feeling pretty good. Better all the time.”

Glancing from one bed to the other, Olsen nodded. “Good… good,” he said almost absent-mindedly, and the partners exchanged a curious look. “Listen, ah, I don’t want to interrupt your dinner…”

“Don’t worry,” Steve offered quickly, pushing his own meal away, “we’re, ah, we’re not going to miss anything.”

“What is it, Rudy?” Mike asked when the older man chuckled and looked down, as if avoiding their stares.

Raising his head, the gray-haired captain inhaled loudly and scratched the back of his neck. “There’s, ah, there’s been some developments in the Stockton bank robbery that I, ah, I think you should know about.” He looked at them with what could only be described as regret and both partners instinctively knew that what they would learn in the next few minutes could possibly change their lives forever.

When Olsen wasn’t immediately forthcoming, Mike glanced at Steve and his frown deepened. “What kind of developments?”

Clearing his throat and obviously uncomfortable, Olsen’s eyes finally met Mike’s. “The Oakland Police Department arrested a Robert Rafferty today on suspicion of armed robbery, murder during the execution of a robbery and weapons charges. He’s being brought back to the Hall later tonight by Haseejian and Healey. And so is a 1970 dark blue Chrysler Imperial with his fingerprints on the mirror that we suspect was the vehicle used in the robbery of the Stockton Street bank.” He finished looking down, unable to meet their eyes.

Mike was staring unfocused towards the foot of his bed, not moving, taking shallow breaths through his open mouth. Steve, who had looked from the captain to his partner, could feel his heart begin to pound in his ears. He had been prepared to hear about the possibility of reckless endangerment charges for the way the chase had ended, and even the possibility of an excessive force accusation, but the thought that Alfred Russell and his Imperial had nothing whatsoever to do with the robbery and murder was impossible to believe.

Shaking his head slightly as if to clear it, Mike raised his eyes and stared at the captain with a worried frown. “Rafferty…? How did this guy show up on the radar?”

Stuffing his hands into his pants pockets, Olsen glanced between them again then settled his gaze on Mike. He told them about the tip the OPD had received about the car in the warehouse and the partial fingerprints discovered on the mirror that led them to the recently released robbery felon with a penchant for banks.

“But there were three of them in the bank?” Steve countered when Olsen finished the explanation. “What happened to the other two?”

“OPD is tracking who he ran with and who he could’ve been in touch with since he got out of Quentin. They have some good solid leads they’re working on… and Dan and Norm are working with them… Look, it’s, ah, it’s still too soon to have Gerry lay charges against Rafferty but we’ve still got about thirty-six hours before our backs are to the wall and we have to charge him and hopefully something will break before then.” He paused and released a pessimistic sigh. “But as it stands right now, Rafferty is looking good for it… for the robbery for sure, but even if he didn’t pull the trigger, well, we all know he’ll be charged with murder anyway… and that alone could loosen his tongue and hopefully he’ll roll on his accomplices.”

A tense and oppressive silence filled the room. Olsen decided to let his detectives steer the direction of the conversation from here on out. He knew what he had just told them had repercussions that contained the potential to be more than just a glitch in a stellar career.

“And Russell…?” Mike asked eventually, his voice barely above a whisper.

Olsen shrugged. “A scared kid smoking pot?” He sighed again. “His lawyer’s not letting us talk to him, and as we haven’t charged the kid with anything yet, he doesn’t have to. But now we’re going to have to deal with the fallout… the, ah, the lawsuits that I’m sure will be filed in the morning…”

Steve slowly sunk back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling; he could feel the blood pounding in his temples and knew his entire body was starting to tremble as unbidden adrenaline flooded through his veins. He closed his eyes, unable to look in his partner’s direction.

Mike stared at the captain for several long seconds without moving, his expression blank. He swallowed heavily then asked quietly, “Thanks, Rudy… I appreciate…” he cleared his throat lightly, “I appreciate the honesty…”

Olsen began to nod gently.

“Look, ah, Steve and I have a lot to think about… um… ah, sorry…” Mike looked away and blinked rapidly several times.

“Hey,” Olsen said quickly, “I, ah, I understand. Uh, I’m gonna leave you guys… ah, but look, uh, I’ll be back first thing in the morning and I’ll bring you up to date on anything that happens overnight, okay?” He looked quickly from one partner to the other and nodded briskly again. “You two, ah, you two take it easy, okay… and, ah, we’ll get through this, okay? It’s not just you two… it’s the whole department. Everybody’s behind you on this, believe me…” 

His voice petering out, Olsen stood helplessly between the beds, his eyes snapping from one detective to the other, at a loss for what to say next. With a final nod, he started towards the door. He was just pulling it open when he heard Mike’s soft and heartfelt, “Thanks, Rudy,” and he hesitated. Unable to make himself look once more at the man whose life he may have just destroyed, Olsen nodded forcefully then continued out into the hallway, letting the heavy wooden door close silently behind him.

In the disheartening silence that followed, Mike let his head fall back onto the pillow and squeezed his eyes shut. His breaths, deep and ragged, were painful but he couldn’t stop himself from shaking with anger, fear and despair. He knew Steve was feeling the same and he struggled to get himself under control. This wasn’t just about him; he had a partner he needed to reassure.

Finally confident in the strength of his voice, Mike looked over at the other bed. The younger man was still lying back, facing the ceiling with his eyes closed. His chest was heaving.

“Steve…” he called softly and watched the green eyes open and turn expressionlessly in his direction. He tried an encouraging smile. “We’re gonna get through this, buddy boy… both of us… We’re gonna get through this…”

Unable to smile, Steve nodded, blinking quickly.

# # # # #

Devitt looked up as his door opened and Olsen shuffled wearily into his office and dropped unhappily into the guest chair, not meeting the Lieutenant’s concerned stare.

After a couple of strained silent seconds, the captain sighed heavily. “I just told them. God, I didn’t want to do that, but I didn’t have any choice. They have to know.”

Nodding to himself, Devitt offered gently, “Yeah… you did the right thing, Rudy. How did they take it?”

Olsen finally looked up. “Shocked, I guess… I don’t really know… they were both really quiet… stunned, I guess…”

“Yeah, I would be too. Listen, ah, you look beat. Why don’t you head home for a few hours. I’m not going anywhere; I’ll call you if anything breaks.”

Olsen leaned forward, looking at the floor and nodding. “I might do that. Say, ah, did Healey and Haseejian get back here with Rafferty?”

Devitt nodded. “A couple of hours ago. They’re in the interrogation room in Homicide. I haven’t heard anything yet but it’s still early… Look, the second I hear, I’ll call you, I promise.”

His head bobbing, the captain dragged himself to his feet and crossed to the door. He looked back, his craggy face reflecting the sadness they were both feeling. “Part of me wants Rafferty to confess and part of me doesn’t… Does that make any sense?”

Devitt snorted dryly. “It makes a lot of sense… to me anyway. The second he confesses, Mike and Steve go from the frying pan to the fire… and there’s nothing we can do to stop it.”


	16. Chapter 16

The seemingly long day was getting a lot longer, or so it felt. Wearily, Mike reached out awkwardly with his left hand through the bars of the bedrail and snagged his watch from the small table beside him. He was lying flat, staring at the ceiling. He found it was the most comfortable position for his shoulder. And he was in no mood to read or watch TV.

Since Steve had been released shortly after 10 that morning and he had been moved to a private room, he had been alone with his thoughts, the thoughts that wouldn’t go away and that had prevented him from getting any quality sleep. 

It had been a very quiet night; they hadn’t spoken more then a few words after Olsen had left and, with an almost perfunctory good-bye, Steve had departed in silence. He knew the young man wasn’t angry with him. The reticence that they both loathed but withstood had been born from the guilt each of them felt at being responsible for putting the other’s life, and career, in jeopardy.

Mike looked at his watch and sighed. It was only 3:45 but it seemed much later. Closing his eyes, he allowed his left hand to drop back to the bed, not even bothering to return the watch to the table. He had spent the day going over and over the events leading up to the fateful car chase, and though he acknowledged to himself that going up the driveway and making Steve look through the garage windows, without a warrant or cause, was not one of the brighter moves he had made in his career, it wasn’t that far over the line. And he had requested a warrant immediately afterwards.

As for the chase itself, it had been obvious to both he and his partner that the driver of the Imperial, whoever it was, was not just running from the cops because he was high; it was an act of desperation. This wasn’t a person who was terrified of being caught smoking pot; this was a driver with much more to hide. He would stake his reputation on that. But he was in no position to do anything about it, and he wouldn’t be for several days yet.

He barely heard the soft knock on the door. He lifted his head slightly. “Come in.”

The door opened slowly and Steve backed awkwardly into the room. He had one large paper bag tucked into the crook of his right arm, wedged between the cast and his chest, and another in his left hand. And he was wearing a warm, almost embarrassed smile.

With an unsuccessful attempt to mask his relief, Mike raised his head as high as he could without wincing and smiled. “What have you got there?” he asked quietly, not sure he could trust his voice.

His smile getting a little wider, Steve crossed to the rolling table and set both bags down. “I promised you I’d do something about the quality of the food… so I stopped by Mama’s before they closed and had them whip us up a nice dinner.”

His heart pounding with a gratitude he couldn’t put into words at the moment, Mike watched as Steve took three large aluminum and cardboard take-out containers from one of the bags and set them on the table; the mouth-watering smell of baked garlic and seafood filled the small room. He removed two large Styrofoam cups from the second bag, turned to the bed and raised his eyebrows. “Iced tea.”

Mike smiled, at the thoughtfulness and at the realization that this was Steve’s way of apologizing for his uncharacteristic silence that morning, an episode for which they were both guilty. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, suddenly unable to talk and hoping the younger man didn’t notice.

Steve crossed to the foot of the bed and began to crank the handle. “Here, let’s get you sitting up so you can eat.” He chuckled to himself as the bed rose. “I gotta start getting better at using my left hand or this is going to be a very long six weeks.” He had noticed Mike’s uncharacteristic silence, knew why, and was doing his best to cover.

He had spent the first part of the day after the cab ride home in his apartment, trying to put things in their place, both physically and psychologically. Like his partner, he hadn’t slept during the night, reliving the chase and the hours before it over and over in his restless mind. He had managed to grab a couple of hours of sleep in his own bed before taking another cab to the Hall. He wanted to talk to Olsen again, but the captain wasn’t there; he was taking a few well-deserved hours off.

Not wanting to make things awkward for his Homicide colleagues, who were no doubt fully aware of what was going on, he was heading to Devitt’s office when he ran into the lieutenant in the corridor. Though more than pleased to see him, Devitt cautioned that Steve should keep a low profile while in the Hall and escorted the slow-moving, still-healing inspector to his office.

For close to an hour, he brought the young detective up to speed with all that he knew about the parallel investigations: Rafferty and his cronies, and Baker, Russell and Young. By the time Steve left the Hall, already preparing to take a cab to Mama’s and fulfill a promise, a day that had started dark and gloomy had gotten darker and gloomier. 

The bed raised high enough, Steve moved back to the overbed table; he felt Mike’s eyes on him the entire time. Smiling slightly, he pushed the rolling table over the bed and the blue eyes finally settled on the still covered containers. 

“Is that what I think it is?” the older man asked quietly.

Chuckling, Steve nodded as he began, somewhat awkwardly, to remove the cardboard lids from the aluminum containers with his left hand and the tips of the right fingers. “I’d forgotten too, but the Dungeness crabs are still in season.”

Mike snorted a happy laugh, his eyes still hooded and troubled. He brought his left hand up to cover his mouth.

Getting the lid off one of the containers, Steve announced, “I had a feeling you haven’t eaten much in the last twenty-four hours… I know I haven’t,” he added quietly, “so I got each of us a Dungeness Crab Omelette, and an order of Silver Dollar Pancakes that we can share… with real maple syrup.” He held up a couple of small plastic containers filled with a dark liquid. “Oh, and they guaranteed me we can cut these omelettes with a fork, which is good news for both of us…” He chuckled warmly, putting a substantial-looking white plastic fork on the tray beside Mike’s omelette and moving one of the iced teas close to his partner’s left hand.

“Thank you,” Mike said quietly as he reached for the fork. He was watching every move the younger man was making once again.

“You’re welcome,” Steve said lightly, smiling warmly as he pulled the two guests chairs closer to the bed, facing each other. Leaving the container of pancakes on the small table, he put his own omelette container on one chair and sat in the other. He managed to slice off a small piece of the omelette and get it to his mouth without too much difficulty. “I’d almost forgotten how good these are,” he sighed when he had finished chewing and swallowing, grinning amiably at the bed.

Mike, who hadn’t moved but was still watching him, fork in hand, smiled perfunctorily. “What aren’t you telling me?” he asked softly.

Steve stopped moving and the smile disappeared. He stared in silence for a couple of seconds then sighed. “Look, ah, why don’t we have dinner first… we both need to eat. You know that as well as I do… And then I promise I’ll tell you everything. Okay?”

Swallowing heavily, Mike nodded. “Okay…” he whispered, finally turning his attention to the appealing and appetizing omelette in the container before him. 

They ate quietly, an almost uncomfortable silence filling the room. When they’d finished, Mike smiled and dropped his head, chuckling slightly. “Thank you,” he said warmly. “You’re right… I really needed that. I think you did too, right?”

Steve smiled and nodded as he pushed the second chair away, leaned back and patted his stomach with a laugh. “You’re welcome… and I sure did.” 

With a satiated sigh, he got to his feet, approached the bed and started to pack up the now empty containers. Mike put his left hand on his forearm and stopped him. “That can wait. What do you need to tell me?”

Steve’s smile disappeared and he stared into the worried blue eyes evenly for a couple of seconds before he nodded quickly and exhaled loudly. “Okay,” he sighed quietly, pushing the rolling table away and turning to sit on the edge of the bed. He cleared his throat. “I went to the Hall today –“

“What?” Mike interrupted almost angrily, sitting up even more. 

Steve raised his left hand to stop the outburst before it could build up any more steam. “I had to,” he said firmly, “I had to find out what happened overnight. You’d of done the same thing, I know you would, so don’t jump all over me.” He finished with a glare that would’ve made Jeannie proud. 

After a tense second or two, Mike relaxed and sank back against the pillows. “What did you find out?” he growled unhappily, looking away while he collected himself then meeting the triumphant green eyes again.

Steve sighed heavily and dropped his left hand onto the older man’s arm. “Rafferty confessed to the bank robbery…” he said simply.

Mike closed his eyes and took a deep breath, ignoring the pain in his chest. “God damn it,” he whispered and felt his arm squeezed. He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling. “Did he name his accomplices?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. Roy wouldn’t tell me, but he assured me it’s nobody we know… or know about. The OPD are looking for them; they’re locals, from what I gather. Well known to the boys over the Bridge.”

“What made Rafferty spill so easily?”

“Gerry took the death penalty off the table.”

“But it might be repealed next year. Everybody thinks so, anyway.” Mike frowned, confused. 

Steve snorted, tilting his head. “Well, I guess Rafferty doesn’t know that… which I guess is a good thing for us… well, not you and me but…” He sighed heavily and squeezed Mike’s arm again.

Mike studied his young partner closely. “What else?”

“Humh?”

“You’re not telling me everything. I know you too well. What else is going on?”

Steve half-smiled, shaking his head. He inhaled deeply, the smile disappearing once more. “The lawsuits Rudy warned us about? They were filed this morning. Against you… me… and the city. For criminal negligence and excessive force.”

He could see the muscles of Mike’s jaw tighten. “How much?”

“Five million.”

Mike closed his eyes. 

“Roy said Gerry and the PBA lawyers will be in touch with us within the next couple of days.”

Mike nodded then lay very still for several long seconds. He could feel the comforting warmth of Steve’s hand on his arm. He slowly opened his eyes and stared at the young man with whom he shared such a close bond and whose friendship he cherished so deeply. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Steve frowned and tilted his head. “What are you sorry about?” he asked softly.

“You shouldn’t be involved in all this. I’m your boss… I’m the one that makes the decisions, not you… and I’m the one that bears the responsibility… for everything… not you…”

Steve sagged slightly with a gentle snort. “Mike, I was the one driving the car, remember? I’m just as responsible as you are –“

“No!” Mike shook his head sharply, then winced, gasping in pain. He felt Steve’s hand tighten on his arm. He lay still, breathing rapidly and shallowly until the discomfort in head subsided; the tight grip on his arm relaxed. He opened his eyes; Steve was staring at him with worry and sadness. “I can’t let them ruin your career for something that I ordered you to do.”

Smiling warmly, Steve lifted his hand from the older man’s arm and placed it at the base of his neck, gently holding him down. “Oh yeah?” he challenged genially, his eyes focusing pointedly on Mike’s right arm, still strapped across his chest. “What makes you think you’re in any condition to take me on about this right now?”

Mike’s brow furrowed and he gasped again, this time overwhelmed with emotion he could no longer contain.

His eyes brightening, Steve’s smile wavered and he bit his bottom lip. “This isn’t about you… and it isn’t about me. It’s about us, Mike… it’s about us…”


	17. Chapter 17

They stared at each for several long silent seconds, Steve in gentle defiance, Mike in grudging but loving acceptance. Then, unexpectedly, the soft sound of a throat being cleared reached their ears. Steve swung around; a young dark-haired doctor in a white lab coat was standing just inside the now closed door.

“I’m sorry… am I interrupting something?” he asked hesitantly, taking a step towards the bed. 

Mike chuckled, dropping his left hand onto Steve’s leg and squeezing. “Come on in, doc.” As Steve slid off the bed to greet the newcomer, Mike made the introductions. “This is Doctor Raynis… the guy who put the hole in my head. Doc, this is my partner, Steve Keller.”

Smiling Steve stuck his left hand out. “Great to meet you. Ah, sorry,” he laughed softly, raising the cast as they shook hands awkwardly. 

“Not a problem… and great to meet you too.” He looked at Mike. “I was just about to leave for the day and wanted to check in on my favorite hospitalized police lieutenant first,” he laughed. “How are you feeling?”

“Glad to be out of ICU.”

“I’ll bet.” Raynis stepped closer to the bed and leaned over. “Close your left eye,” he ordered softly and Mike complied. Holding his right hand in front of the cop’s face, he asked, “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Mike smiled smugly. “Three.”

Grinning, Raynis straightened up, slapping the older man lightly on the arm and shaking his head. “Great. That’s what I wanted to hear. Well, my work here is done,” he said lightly as he strolled back across the room. As he started to open the door, he turned back. “Mike, we’ll get you on your feet tomorrow and then I think we’ll be able to kick you out of here the day after. How does that sound?”

The cop beamed back. “That would be wonderful,” he chuckled.

Winking at Mike and nodding at Steve, the doctor pointed towards the bed. “Get your sleep,” he ordered with a grin before leaving the room. As the door softly closed, the younger man approached the bed again, frowning. “What was that all about?”

“What was what all about?”

“Making you close one eye and then asking how many fingers he was holding up? What, is something wrong with your right eye?”

Mike shook his head. “No.”

“All right,” Steve said pedantically, “let me rephrase that. Was there something wrong with your right eye?”

Mike stared at him without moving for a long second then sighed, rolling his eyes and shaking his head slightly in frustration. “If you must know…” he began stiltedly, realizing that now was not a good time to lie to his partner, no matter how altruistic his motive, “when I woke up after the accident, I couldn’t see out of my right eye.”

Steve’s own eyes widened slightly. “What?” he exclaimed almost breathlessly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because the doctor assured me it was temporary – and it was… and I didn’t want to worry you. You had enough on your plate…”

Steve snorted dryly. “Do me a favor and let me be the judge of that… okay?” He stared at the older man in bemused frustration. “Your eye’s okay now?”

Mike smiled reassuringly. “It’s not a hundred percent yet but it’s getting there. Raynis seems happy and so am I. So you have nothing to worry about… well, about my eyesight anyway.” 

Steve chuckled as he pulled the rolling table closer and began to pick up the containers, cups and cutlery from their dinner. 

“What are you doing?” Mike asked.

“I’m cleaning up so I can get out of here and let you get that sleep your doctor wants you to get.”

“Steve, it’s not that late and I –“

“You heard the doctor,” the younger man cut him off with a chuckle. “Besides, I want to get home myself… see if I can start to make up for the sleep I didn’t get last night.”

“Yeah, you got a point there. Listen, ah, take it easy tomorrow, okay? Get a lot of rest… we’re both gonna need it, I’m guessing…” His voice had faded to a soft whisper. 

Steve stopped putting the containers back into one of the paper bags and faced his partner. Mike was staring unfocused at the foot the bed in front of him.

“You okay?”

The older man raised his head and looked at him, frowning slightly. “What?”

Steve took a step closer to the bed. “Are you okay?”

Mike smiled suddenly. “I’m fine,” he chuckled with false bravado. “Just a little tired.”

“Unh-hunh,” Steve nodded, unconvinced but not about to press the point. He resumed the task at hand and within seconds had everything back in the bags. He stuffed one under his right arm and picked up the second before stepping to the bed once more. 

Mike looked up at him, smiling warmly, and he felt tears spring to his eyes. He blinked quickly and tried to smile back. “This isn’t over, you know… you and me? We were right… I know it and so do you. That kid and that car…? It may not have been about the bank robbery but something was very hinky about that night… and we’re gonna find out what it is…”

Pressing his lips together, Mike nodded. “Sure we are,” he agreed quietly, but the steel and conviction in his voice that the younger man was expecting wasn’t there, and Steve’s heart skipped a beat. He stared at his partner without blinking, almost angrily, for a couple of long seconds, for once not knowing what to say. He knew how guilty Mike was feeling about the entire debacle, and he knew that no matter what platitudes he could espouse, nothing would change how his partner was thinking or feeling. Nothing short of full exoneration, and that would only come when, and if, it could be proved that the decisions, and the actions, they had made that night had been the right ones.

Steve sighed heavily. They were both out of the game at the moment, sitting on the sidelines… benched. The careers, and their lives, were in other peoples hands, and that was a situation that didn’t sit well with either of them.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” he said with feigned enthusiasm as he turned towards the door.

“You don’t have to come early,” Mike said quickly at his retreating back; he stopped and looked back. “Breakfast here isn’t too bad,” the older man continued with a quiet chuckle.

Steve smiled and nodded slightly. “Okay, but I’ll bring lunch. And get some sleep.” He pulled the door open awkwardly, trying to hang onto the bag under his right arm while wrapping a couple of fingers around the handle. Holding the door open with his foot he looked back at the bed. “Try to get some sleep,” he said quietly.

Mike nodded back, smiling, his eyes brightening. “You too.”

# # # # #

“We may have to buy Bill a beer or two,” Healey groused as he joined the waiting Haseejian after the elevator door opened on the fourth floor and he stepped out into the bustling corridor.

With a deep chuckle, the Armenian sergeant fell into step beside his partner. “What, did you go through the files all night?” 

Since the Rafferty confession, the two Homicide sergeants had been reassigned by Olsen to continue the investigation into Graham Baker and his buddies, freeing Tanner and Lessing to return to their open murder cases. The captain, like Devitt and the others, firmly believed that there was something they were overlooking, and that a cop with the instincts and experience of a Mike Stone would not have made such a potentially tragic decision without good cause. They just had to find it.

Healey shook his head with a dry snort. “Well, not all night, but something was really bugging me about that Delancy kid and his zipped lip…”

“So,” Haseejian growled, “what did you find out?”

“Well, Bill was wrong about maybe Delancy not living here all his life; he’s a native, born and bred.”

“So…?” Haseejian shrugged as he reached for the Homicide office door and pulled it open, taking a step back to allow Healey to precede him into the bullpen. “How does that help us… and cost us a beer?”

“Well, while I was checking out his bona fides, it turns out he’s a stepbrother.”

The balding sergeant stopped halfway across the room and turned to face his partner. A slow grin split his face. “A stepbrother, you say…?”

Healey nodded, a close-mouthed smile lighting his face. 

“So,” Haseejian ventured smugly, “would his sibling possibly be, oh, a younger brother…?”

Healey nodded vigorously. 

“And would this sibling’s last name be, oh I don’t know… Young?”

“Bullseye!”

“Well, well, well,” Haseejian chuckled evilly, leading them both to their desks and dropping down into his chair. “Now that’s very interesting, isn’t it?” He looked across with desk with a wide grin. “My friend, I think this might be a busy, but potentially profitable day, don’t you?”

With an eager and somewhat self-satisfied smile, Healey nodded.

# # # # # 

Steve stood in the bright hospital corridor in front of the heavy wooden door, a large paper bag in his left hand and a newspaper tucked under his right arm. He closed his eyes and took as deep a breath as he could, trying not to aggravate his still healing ribs.

He had managed to get a good sound night’s sleep, only to awaken to another disastrous development. He didn’t know how he was going to tell his partner; he only knew he couldn’t, and wouldn’t, keep him in the dark. If they were in this together, as he had said, then together they would face everything.

Pasting as wide a smile on his face as he could, he pushed the door open and strode into the room. Mike was sitting up against the raised bed, his head back and eyes closed. He opened his eyes and turned towards the door as Steve crossed the room.

“Hey, hey, the nurses told me you were up and walking around the floor this morning.”

Mike grinned. “I was. It felt pretty good too. I didn’t get dizzy once, so I think they’re gonna let me out tomorrow, like Doc Raynis said.”

“Exellent,” Steve chuckled, putting the paper bag on the rolling table and tossing the newspaper onto one of the chairs. “I brought lunch… a couple of Reubens. You up for it?”

Mike’s smile got even wider and he nodded. “From Morty’s?”

“Where else?” Steve opened the bag and began to take the foil-wrapped sandwiches out. He could feel Mike’s eyes on him.

“What’s wrong?”

Steve stopped moving and met the blue-eyed stare. “Nothing. Why?” he almost stammered.

“Steve, something bugging you. What is it?”

The younger man cleared his throat and glanced at the ceiling. Damn, he thought, I’d hoped we could eat first…. He took his hand out of the paper bag and, with a heavy sigh, sat on the edge of the bed. “Do you know who Jack Leist is?”

Mike frowned. “He’s that muck-raking reporter for that radio station, isn’t he?”

“KBEX. Yeah, that’s the one. Well, ah, somehow he found out about the lawsuits that Russell’s lawyer filed against us and the city... it’s all over the news, Mike. The Examiner picked up on it this morning,” he gestured with his head towards the paper on the chair, “and there was a reporter with a camera from KGO outside my apartment this morning too. I told him ‘no comment’ but…” He sighed sadly, laying a hand on Mike’s arm and squeezing. 

The older man stared at him expressionlessly then asked semi-rhetorically, “This just keeps getting worse and worse, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah…”

Mike looked away, smiling coldly and shaking his head with a frustrated snort. He stared at a spot on the far wall for several seconds then turned back sharply to his partner. “Well, we can sit here and wallow, or we can sit here and eat those terrific sandwiches you brought us. I think we should eat the sandwiches. What do you think?” He smiled warmly, eyebrows raised.

A lump forming in the back of his throat, Steve grinned and got to his feet. “I think we should eat,” he laughed happily as he reached for the bag and handed a Reuben to his partner.


	18. Chapter 18

The unmarked dark gray Galaxie pulled into an empty space in the courtyard-style parking lot of the light brown stucco two-story motel. Captain Olsen turned off the ignition and looked across the front seat. 

Mike, wearing a black Giants jacket and ball cap, was staring grumpily through the windshield. He hadn’t moved or spoken since they’d left the hospital about a half-hour before.

Suppressing a harrumph, Olsen glanced into the rearview mirror. Steve’s face wore a similar expression.

“Listen, fellas, I told you, this is the best we could do… you know the budget restraints.” 

Mike’s head turned slowly in his direction but he didn’t say anything. 

With a heavy sigh, Olsen took the key out of the ignition and got out of the car. Slamming the door, he walked to the rear and opened the trunk. He looked towards the parking lot entrance where a black unmarked Galaxie, which had been tailing them, was parked near the curb. He knew they were watching the street to make sure they hadn’t been followed.

Mike slumped down in the seat even more and sighed. In the back seat, Steve snorted dryly. “Well, I guess it could be worse…”

“Oh…? How?”

“We could be in a flophouse on Mission…”

Despite everything, Mike started to chuckle and Steve joined in. With a sigh that signaled an acceptance of the inevitable, Mike reached across his body with his left hand and opened the door. 

By the time they were both out of the car, Olsen had their two small suitcases out of the trunk. He was holding out room keys. He nodded towards the two rooms directly in front of the Galaxie. “Like I said, everything’s arranged. Just make yourselves at home,” he said awkwardly, unable to meet the two pairs of eyes that continued to bore into him with an almost bemused, yet faintly irritated, disbelief. Mike reached out and snatched one of the keys from his hand, then reached down and picked up his suitcase, starting towards the motel. 

Steve took the other key a little more sedately, with a nod and raised eyebrows, grabbed his own suitcase and followed his partner. 

“You guys need a hand getting settled in?” Olsen asked feebly and Mike glared slowly over his shoulder as he approached the motel room door. Nodding briskly to himself, Olsen crossed to the driver’s door and opened it. “Okay, ah, so, I’ll be in the office if you need to get in touch with me,” he said to their backs as he quickly got behind the wheel.

Mike watched silently as the gray Galaxie shot across the parking lot and turned onto the street, the black sedan pulling away from the curb to follow. Steve glanced at his partner and chuckled. “Geez, he couldn’t get out of here fast enough, could he?”

Mike smiled and snickered as he turned to the door. “Yeah.” It took several attempts for him to get the key into the lock with his left hand and Steve could tell he was getting frustrated. 

His own door open, Steve crossed to his partner and put his right hand out. “Here,” he requested and Mike, with a scowl, put the key on the tips of his partners fingers. Holding the knob with his left hand and using his right carefully to turn the key, he got the door open.

Mike was staring at the key in the knob. “Great,” he sighed, “if it’s gonna take two hands to open these doors, I’m kinda shit outa luck, aren’t I?”

Steve grinned up at him. “That’s why I’m here,” he chuckled, trying to make the best of their situation. He reached down for Mike’s suitcase but the older man waved him off.

“No no no, I can do that. Thanks.” He picked up the suitcase and carried it into the small room with the double bed, small chest of drawers, desk and chair. Closing the door behind him, Mike dropped the suitcase and looked around. With a heavy sigh, he crossed to the bed and sat.

It hadn’t been the morning he was expecting. After a quick last visit from Doctor Raynis, who bestowed his final blessing, he had been waiting for the release papers to be delivered when Steve and an apologetic Olsen had arrived to pick him up.

A couple of reporters, one of them the vile Jack Liest, had been camped out on the sidewalk in front of Steve’s Union Street apartment, and a swing by of Mike’s De Haro house had discovered a similar scenario. So it had been decided, for the benefit of everyone involved, and most especially Mike and Steve, that they be ‘relocated’ till the worst had blown over, whenever that turned out to be.

And, owing to the budget restrictions the department had to adhere to, the motel in South San Francisco was considered the best option. No one would expect to find them there.

Steve and Olsen had run the gauntlet at Mike’s house and filled a small suitcase before heading to the hospital to pick him up.

He had no idea how long he had been sitting on the motel bed when he heard a soft knock on the door. “Come in!” he called out then, when he heard the knob rattled, got to his feet with a heavy sigh and crossed to the door. 

Steve stepped into the small room, his eyes quickly going to the unopened suitcase still on the floor. He picked it up and tossed it on the bed.

“I can get that,” Mike said quickly as he shut the door.

Steve looked at him and smiled warmly. “Sit down, I’ve got it,” he ordered gently, gesturing at the bed with his chin. “They told you you need to take it really easy for awhile, right? So do us both a favor, okay, and lie down and I’ll empty your suitcase. I, ah, I have a feeling we might be here for awhile,” he finished with a chuckle.

Mike stared at him without expression for a long second or two, then nodded begrudgingly and sat on the bed as Steve pulled the suitcase to the far side and unzipped it, lifting the top. He opened a drawer in the dresser and began to transfer the clothes.

Sliding down the bed till he was almost flat with his head on the pillow, Mike wrapped his left arm around his still immobile right arm and shoulder and stared dejectedly at the ceiling. Steve glanced at him.

“You okay?”

“Umh-humh,” Mike grunted in reply.

Steve brought the toiletries bag into the small bathroom and opened it, laying everything out neatly before returning to the suitcase. Mike was still staring at the ceiling. He knew the older man was holding himself responsible for their situation, which was to be expected, but he was determined to make sure that he wouldn’t shoulder the blame alone, no matter what it took.

“Listen, ah,” he began conversationally as he continued to transfer Mike’s clothes into the dresser drawers, “why don’t you take a nap and then we’ll see what’s in the area for lunch. It might do us both some good to get out in the fresh air and go for a short walk. What do you say?”

Mike smiled. He knew what his young partner was doing and he appreciated the effort. “Yeah… yeah, that sounds like a great idea…”

“Great. And then how about tonight, maybe after dinner, you give Jeannie a call?”

Still staring at the ceiling, Mike’s smile got even wider. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day, buddy boy… the best…”

# # # # #

“Come in!”

Healey opened the door and led Haseejian into the small office. He glanced at Devitt behind the desk, his eyes quickly taking in the two people in the guest chairs, only one – Sergeant Sean Whiting, from Personal Crimes Division - he recognized. The other was a young blond woman, clasping a small purse and wearing a worried frown.

“Dan, Norm,” the lieutenant greeted the newcomers with a nod as they stepped to the side of the desk, glancing curiously from Whiting to the girl to Devitt. “I believe you guys know Sean, right?”

All three officers nodded with quick smiles. 

Devitt gestured towards the civilian. “Gentlemen, this is Carole Patterson. Miss Patterson, Sergeants Healey and Haseejian from Homicide.”

She nodded and smiled shyly.

Healey smiled genially and nodded. Haseejian grinned with a “Nice to meet you.” Both of them looked at Devitt again. “So, what can we do for you?”

“It’s more what we can do for you,” Whiting said with a curt nod in the young woman’s direction and they focused their attention on him. “Miss Patterson came in a little while ago with a story I think concerns your division more than ours.” He looked at her and nodded encouragingly. “Tell them what you told me.”

She stared up at the two Homicide sergeants, and the look they had assumed was shy they now realized was steely determination. “I saw that article in the paper yesterday about the lawsuit against those police officers who were in the accident on the freeway last week…” She hesitated and bit her bottom lip.

Haseejian glanced at his partner and Healey’s eyes narrowed. “Yes…?” the Irish sergeant encouraged her softly. 

“The guy that’s suing those officers…? Freddie Russell?” Her blue eyes met theirs almost defiantly, as if getting her courage back. “I know him. We went to high school together.” She stopped speaking again; they could see her eyes brighten and she blinked quickly several times, the corners of her lips turning down as she struggled to keep her composure. 

“What about him, Miss?” Haseejian asked gently, the hairs on the back of his neck beginning to rise.

She snorted dryly. “I read that newspaper story… and I heard that report on the radio from that Mr. Lice or Lies or whatever his name is…” She shrugged almost angrily and looked away.

“Liest,” Healey offered softly, suppressing a smile, as did the others.

“Yeah, him,” she confirmed forcefully. “It’s not true… what they’re saying about him… Freddie…” she said with a sneer and then looked up. “He hates it when we call him that.” There was a sudden defiance in her voice that was startling to the men in the room. “He’s no angel, you know, not like they’re saying in the newspaper.”

“How do you know that?” Healey asked, feeling his heart start to pound.

She stared at him without expression for several long seconds before inhaling deeply, as if to steady herself. “Because he raped me. He and his friends. They raped me…”


	19. Chapter 19

The three Homicide detectives froze momentarily. Healey snuck a quick glance at his partner, who was staring at Miss Patterson with slightly widened eyes. 

“He raped you?” Healey asked slowly and carefully.

She nodded. “Unh-hunh. The three of them – Freddie, Gray and Cal.” 

Healey sat on the corner of the desk in front of her, trying to get closer to eye level so he wouldn’t seem so intimidating. “When did this happen?”

“About six months ago.”

Haseejian tilted his head. “You said you went to high school with him... but you’ve both been out of school for a couple of years now…?”

“I see them around the neighborhood from time to time,” she shrugged. 

“So, ah,” Healey took over again, “tell us about the rape.”

She looked down, her fingers tightening on the purse, then she inhaled deeply and her head came up again. “We were just hanging around, a bunch of us. It was a hot night and we were drinking some beers in somebody’s house –“

“Whose house?” Devitt asked, interrupting.

She glanced in his direction. “He’s not involved and I don’t want to get him in any trouble.”

Devitt was about to argue but thought better of it. They could get that information from her later; right now they didn’t want her to clam up.

“All right,” Haseejian said smoothly with a slight nod, “so what happened that night?”

“Well, ah, we were drinking and… you know…”

“Smoking pot?” Healey offered with a small understanding smile and she nodded. 

“Anything else?” Haseejian prodded gently and her eyes snapped in his direction.

“Making out? Is that what you’re trying to say?” There was a tinge of accusatory anger in her tone.

Startled, Haseejian hesitated. “Uh…”

“Well, we weren’t,” she snapped, shaking her head. “We were necking, yes, but I’m not that…” She glanced around the room, meeting the four sets of male eyes. “I was still a virgin, all right? Are you satisfied?”

The men reared back slightly where they stood or sat, looking away briefly. Devitt and Haseejian cleared their throats uncomfortably. She looked back down again and released a deep breath.

“It got late,” she continued eventually, her voice soft and her words hesitant, “and I guess I was a little drunk… and a little high… and the next thing I know he was on top of me… Gray Baker… He was strong and I couldn’t push him off… I tried to scream but he put his hand over my mouth…”

She stopped talking, her gaze somewhere on the floor at her feet. Her knuckles were white around the purse. They waited, letting her set the tone and the pace. 

“So I stopped fighting back and I closed my eyes and I just laid there… “

Healey glanced at Haseejian, whose brow furrowed. 

“Gray got off me… he took his hand off my mouth but I couldn’t move… then Freddie got on top of me…”

They watched a teardrop fall onto her blouse.

Healey looked at Whiting. He was becoming uncomfortable with the way the account was unfolding and knew he and his partner were not experienced in interviewing sexual assault victims. “Miss Patterson,” he said softly, putting a hand gently on her shoulder and waiting till she managed to pull herself together enough to look up at him. He smiled warmly. “Miss Patterson, I’d like you to go with Sergeant Whiting and talk to one of our policewomen. She’ll take a full statement from you. Is that okay?”

Biting her bottom lip, Carole Patterson nodded at him gratefully.

# # # # #

After the door closed, Healey and Haseejian dropped heavily into the two newly vacated guest chairs. The Irish sergeant looked at his partner. “What do you think?”

With a facial shrug, Haseejian nodded slowly. “I think I believe her. You?”

“Me too. You?” he asked Devitt.

The gray-haired lieutenant snorted as he dropped his forearms onto the desk and leaned forward. “I think I believe her, but I want to know more. I mean, from what she told us just now, there’s not going to be any physical evidence, is there? I mean, even if there is a dress or something she kept that has semen on it, it’s still going to be her word against theirs – force or consent?… and even if she comes across as totally credible…” he shrugged, “well, it’s still gonna be ‘he said, she said’.”

“Yeah,” Healey said slowly, his gaze focused inward. He shook his head slightly and looked at Devitt. “So Norm and I have our work cut out for us. We’re gonna have to prove Miss Patterson’s allegations are not only true, they’re iron-clad.” He sighed heavily with a dry chuckle and turned to Haseejian. “You got any ideas, partner?”

Haseejian’s laugh was laced with cynicism. “You’re laying this at my feet? Thanks.” The smile disappeared. “Well, we’re gonna have to wait and see if anything concrete comes out in the interview, of course, but, damn it, you’re right, Roy.” He nodded at the lieutenant. “We’re gonna have to be careful about this because it could look like a witch hunt.”

“That’s why I want you two to be the only ones on this, for now. Does that work for both of you?”

Healey glanced at his partner and they nodded at each other then turned back to Devitt. 

“Mum’s the word,” Haseejian whispered as he got to his feet.

# # # # #

Mike was staring at the ceiling. He was trying to fall asleep but not having any luck. They had gone for a leisurely walk around the area just after one and stumbled upon a family-owned Filipino restaurant that beckoned them in with its mouth-watering aroma.

After an amazingly tasty and thoroughly satisfying lunch of adobo silog, they strolled back to the motel, stopping at a newsstand on the way. Steve bought copies of every newspaper he could find and Mike bought a couple of paperback books. They both knew that somehow they were going to need to fill the long hours of their incarceration, one way or the other. Daytime TV appealed to neither of them.

He had tried to read; he’d even managed to get through the first chapter of The Godfather before he put it down. But he couldn’t focus. His thoughts kept returning to the night of the accident, of the decisions he had made in the hours and minutes before what had led to that seemingly inevitable conclusion.

He’d been lucky that no one had been killed; they’d all been lucky. But even that thought did nothing to assuage his guilt. Had he been wrong? All his professional life he had relied, probably more than he should have, on his gut instinct; and he had, more often than not, been right. But he was getting older now… was he losing his touch?

He squeezed his eyes tightly shut then inhaled deeply. As bad as the situation was for him right now, he was more concerned with how this was going to affect his partner. His own career was beginning to come to an end; Steve’s was just starting. The young inspector had the skill and intelligence to become one of the best detectives San Francisco had ever seen, with the potential to go all the way to the top, if he so desired.

His eyes shot open and he sat up as quickly as he could. Reaching for the black phone on the nightstand with his left hand, he set it on the bed, stuffed the receiver under his chin and dialed. He had just put the receiver to his ear when the other end was answered midway through the first ring.

“Olsen!” came the gruff response.

“Rudy? Mike. Listen, I need to talk to you about those lawsuits.”

“What about them?”

“Well, I probably have to talk to Gerry about this but… well, I want him to tell Russell’s lawyers that I won’t contest the lawsuit… if they take Steve’s name off it.”

# # # # #

Healey was sitting at his desk, a report in his hands; Haseejian was standing behind him, reading over his shoulder. Healey finished and glanced up. When his partner nodded, he flipped the first page back down and tossed it on the desk. Haseejian moved to the guest chair and sat.

“Well, that was a little more detailed, but it still didn’t give us anything concrete.”

“No,” the Armenian sergeant agreed with a weary shake of his head, “no, it sure didn’t.” He sighed in frustration. “Damn it, I do believe her, I just wish we had some good hard evidence. All we have is her word and that, unfortunately, carries no weight whatsoever.”

Healey snorted angrily. “Damn it! I know in my gut she’s telling the truth… so how do we prove it? She was alone, no one except Baker, Russell and Young were in on it, so we got no witnesses. And there’s no physical evidence. And, like Devitt said, we can’t just accuse that Russell punk with nothing to back us up ‘cause it’ll look like a smear campaign just to get our colleagues off the hook.”

“Yeah.” 

They sat in silence for several long seconds. Then Healey sat up quickly and reached for the report. He flipped the top sheet over again and his eyes scanned the typewritten paragraphs in the middle of the page. Haseejian watched him with a furrowed brow.

When Healey finished reading, a small smile played over his lips. 

“What?” Haseejian asked softly as his partner dropped the report onto the desk again.

“Remember when she told us how Baker held her down with his hand over her mouth, then Russell did the same? She says here,” he pointed at the report, “that Russell put his hand over her mouth and so did Young.”

“Yeah. So?”

“I don’t know about you, but that sounds like they all knew what they were doing… that this wasn’t their first time…”

Haseejian’s eyebrows rose and he sat up a little straighter in the chair. “Which means they’d done that before… and maybe since…”

Healey’s smile got even wider and he nodded slowly.

# # # # #

Steve was sitting very still on the edge of bed, listening. The walls of the motel were thin, and from the direction of Mike’s room he could hear the occasional low murmur of a voice. He knew his partner was on the phone.

He had spent the afternoon poring through all the newspapers he’d bought, reading all the editorials and doing all the crosswords. Shortly after six, they had ventured out again for dinner but, still satiated from their sizable lunch, opted for a small meal at a diner just down the block.

Mike had seemed distracted. Their dinner conversation was unusually stilted, as if the older man felt uncomfortable in his presence. Worried but trying not to show it, as they walked back to the motel he once more suggested that Mike call his daughter; he knew that talking to Jeannie never failed to elevate his partner’s mood.

He heard the murmuring stop; he got up and left the room, crossing the short distance to the other door and fishing the key out of his pocket. He had stopped by the motel office on their way back from dinner and, with his partner’s permission, asked for a duplicate key to Mike’s room. Having one would mean he didn’t have to disturb the older man whenever he needed, or wanted, access to his room.

He used that key now to open the door. Mike was sitting on the bed, his knees upraised, leaning against the headboard. The phone was still on the bedspread near his left hand. His head was back against the wall, his eyes squeezed shut; tears were streaming down his face.

Very quietly Steve closed the door and approached the bed. He sat facing his closest friend and gently put a hand on his knee.

Mike gasped for breath, inhaling deeply. He kept his eyes closed. His breaths started to slow. “I hate lying to my daughter,” he whispered.


	20. Chapter 20

Healey knocked on the dark green wooden door, glancing at his partner with his eyebrows raised. They were standing on the small porch of the modest beige stucco three-storey home on Eddy, not far from the high school Baker, Russell and Young had attended.

Haseejian glanced at his watch. It was a little after 9 in the morning, and it was a weekday, but they hoped someone was at home. 

Healey was just about to knock again when a slightly plump, grey-haired middle-aged woman wearing a long red-and-white gingham apron and drying her hands on a dishtowel opened the door. She smiled pleasantly, not at all surprised, it seemed, to see two men in suits standing at her door at that hour.

“Yes, can I help you?” she asked brightly, her blue eyes sliding back and forth between them.

They both smiled back, holding out their stars and I.D.’s. “Ah, yes, Mrs. Patterson?” Healey asked and she nodded. “I’m Sergeant Healey and this is Sergeant Haseejian, San Francisco Police Department.” He stopped himself before saying they were from Homicide; she didn’t need that information, he reasoned.

Her smile wavered and disappeared as she looked at their credentials then back up to their faces. Both detectives realized she might not be aware of her daughter’s visit to the Hall of Justice the day before, and Healey decided she really didn’t need to know. 

“Ah, how may I help you?” she stammered uncertainly, frowning with worry.

“Well, we’re looking for your daughter Carole. Is she at home by any chance?”

“Carole? No, ah, Carole’s at work. What’s this all about?” If it was possible, her frown got even deeper.

“Oh, ah, she witnessed a traffic accident the other day and left her name with the victim… in case they needed a witness, you know? And we’d just like to talk to her to ask her what she saw. Turns out the person that caused the accident is denying everything, so…?” He shrugged with a short laugh. Haseejian nodded.

“Oh?” Mrs. Patterson looked from one detective to the other, the frown slowly disappearing. “Oh!” She smiled again, relieved. “Well, that sounds like my Carole, all right, always trying to do the right thing. But she’s at work right now…” She thought for a second then said quickly, “I have a card in the kitchen with the address on it. Just a second and I’ll get it.”

Leaving the front door open, she turned and hurried back into the bowels of the house. Haseejian tapped his partner on the shoulder. “Nice deflection!” he chuckled.

# # # # #

“I only have a second,” Carole Patterson said, glancing over her shoulder as she led them out of the restaurant onto the sidewalk. “We’re getting ready for the lunch crowd; it’s a madhouse in here during the week.”

“This won’t take long, Miss Patterson,” Haseejian said genially as they stopped just outside the door. Carole took a pack of cigarettes and a Zippo lighter out of her waist apron and quickly lit up. The detectives exchanged bemused looks; she was painting a much different picture from the shy yet defiant young rape victim that showed up at the Hall the day before.

“So,” she said quickly, blowing out a stream of smoke, “what do you need now?”

“Well, ah,” Haseejian said, swallowing a smile, “we were just wondering if… maybe you might know of any other girls who may have been a victim of Baker, Russell and Young?”

She froze slightly, the cigarette held aloft as if momentarily forgotten, and cocked her head. “You mean, others girls that got raped too?”

Healey nodded. “Exactly.”

She took another quick puff, glancing back at the restaurant door. “No,” she said quietly, almost to herself. “And believe me, if I did, I’d tell you… But I don’t…”

“Okay,” Haseejian said softly, nodding gently, “well, do you think there might be other girls… girls who went to the same school you did… who might have found themselves in a similar situation to yours…?”

Her gaze drifted off again as she thought. “There’s one…” she began softly, then turned to look Haseejian straight in the eye. “A bunch of us used to hang around together… still do… but about two months ago one of them just… sorta disappeared…”

“Disappeared?” Healey prompted.

Carole bobbled her head. “I mean, you know, she didn’t leave town or someone woulda told me, but she just stopped hanging out with us. I remember I saw her once, she was waiting for a pizza, and she acted like she didn’t know me. She wouldn’t talk to me and she seemed… I don’t know… frightened or something. It was really weird but I didn’t think much of it at the time… I was, you know, busy with my own thing and I just didn’t…” Her gaze had drifted away. “Do you think she could’ve been raped too?” He was staring at Haseejian again and he nodded.

“That’s a possibility. Do you know where this girl lives?” he asked, taking the notebook out of his jacket pocket, flipping it open and slipping the pen from the spiral binding. “Her name?”

Carole shook her head. “I don’t know where she lives, sorry… but her name is Janet Pinelli. We were in the same grade in school.” She looked at Healey. “Maybe they have her address.”

# # # # #

Mike had had a restless night. His mind kept going over the conversation with Jeannie, how he had told her that he and Steve had been extraordinarily busy, which was why he hadn’t called. He’d told her they’d had several homicides back to back and were exhausted but finally able to take a few days off.

And he had listened, with tears in his eyes, as she had excitedly told him about her newfound interest in long-distance biking and how she had taken on a part-time job so she could buy a good secondhand endurance road bike.

He couldn’t bring himself to tell her about the accident or his hospital stay. About his dislocated shoulder or the hole they’d had to drill into his skull. And he definitely couldn’t tell her about the lawsuit, or the possibility that he could be charged, fired and disgraced.

He was hiding a secret from Steve as well, and that hadn’t helped his troubled sleep. He hadn’t talked to ADA O’Brien yet, but he had already made up his mind in that regard. He would take full responsibility for what happened the night of the accident if his partner was deemed blameless. It was a compromise, and a sacrifice, that he could live with, he thought.

He had taken himself for a walk before the sun had come up, a mistake, he realized, when he got back to the motel and was once again unable to open the door with only one hand. Bemusedly resigned to his fate, and not wanting to wake his partner, he sat on the wrought-iron bench outside the office until the manager arrived to open it at 7 a.m.

Back in the warmth of the small room, he’d stretched out on the bed. He never heard Steve quietly open the door shortly after 9 to check on him. The street clothes told the younger man that Mike had already been up and out.

It was close to noon before he woke, surprised that he had managed to fall sleep. Getting himself together, he eventually knocked on the younger man’s door and was pleasantly surprised when Steve opened it with a smile. 

“You must be hungry.”

Mike chuckled self-consciously, looking down and shaking his head. “I didn’t get much sleep last night so I went for a walk this morning. Guess I zonked out when I got back to the room. So, yeah, I’m a little hungry. Have you eaten?”

Stepping back into the room to grab his jacket, Steve nodded with a grin. “Well, I had a coffee and a couple a pieces of toast about three hours ago, but I was waiting for you. There’s this great little coffee shop a couple of blocks over. Wanna give it a try?”

# # # # #

“God damn it,” Steve growled, throwing the four cards in his hand on the desk in mock disgust. He gritted his teeth, staring at his partner’s downturned head as Mike, trying to mask a smile, attempted to gather the cards with one hand. “Why do my cribs always suck?”

Mike chuckled as he managed to drag the cards into a single pile. With a heavy sigh, Steve stacked the cards then began to shuffle slowly using the fingertips of his right hand. He’d gotten pretty good at it.

“I’m beginning to believe Jeannie when she says you must be cheating ‘cause you win so often.”

Mike, who was watching the shuffle, looked up and snorted with a smirk. “How the hell can I cheat when you put two of the cards in the crib, same as me?”

Steve’s eyes narrowed even more. “I don’t know… but you do, I’m sure of it.”

“Yeah, right,” Mike chuckled as Steve slapped the deck on the desk for him to cut then began to deal.

After their late lunch, they had decided to see a movie, taking a cab to the theater on Tanforan to see Play Misty For Me. They had stayed in that area for dinner then taken a cab back. Steve had ducked into a five-and-dime to buy the cribbage board and pack of cards, knowing they were going to need something to help pass the time.

They were just picking up their cards when there was a short sharp knock on the door. They exchanged surprised frowns before Steve got up from the desk and crossed the small room, glancing at the bed to make sure it wasn’t too messy. He looked through the peephole then turned to Mike with a shrug and a shake of his head as he opened the door to Healey and Haseejian.

“Hey, hey,” the Armenian sergeant chuckled as he led his partner into the room, “nice digs.” 

Healey glanced at Haseejian, shaking his head. He nodded at Steve then looked at Mike. “Rudy told us where you were. We’re not interrupting anything, are we?” 

“Just a little ass-kicking, but no,” Steve grunted sarcastically, shooting a look at Mike, who shrugged with feigned innocence. 

The two sergeants, who had seen the cribbage board and cards, chuckled. 

“How are you feeling, Mike?” Healey asked. They hadn’t seen the lieutenant since before the accident and though they had been kept updated on his condition, it was gratifying to see him in person. He actually looked much better than they’d been expecting.

“I’m doing great, Dan, thanks. Shoulder’s still a bit sore but it’s getting there.”

Nodding, Haseejian gestured vaguely at Steve’s cast. “When do you get that thing off?”

The younger man tilted his head. “Still got another few weeks, so I guess you’ll be typing up all those reports, Norm,” he chortled.

“Yeah, right,” the Armenian sergeant chuckled, shaking his head.

“So what brings you fellas around here? It’s not really on your way home, is it?” Mike asked, unable to contain his curiosity any longer.

Healey glanced at his partner then faced the boss. “Well, ah, something’s come up that we think you two oughta know about. Do you mind?” he directed towards Steve, pointing at the bed.

Before the younger man could answer, Mike got up from the chair they had brought over from his room, gesturing to it as he sat on the bed, stretching out and leaning against the headboard. Steve, who was still near the door, sat on the other side of the bed. 

Healey grabbed one of the chairs, pulled it to the end of the bed and straddled it. Haseejian sat in the second chair and crossed his legs, nodding at his partner to take the lead.

While Mike and Steve sat quietly and listened, the two sergeants filled their colleagues in on Carole Patterson and her accusation of rape.

 

When they finished, Steve looked at his partner. Mike was staring at Healey, his expression unreadable. “Do you believe her?”

Both sergeants nodded. “Yeah, we do,” Healey confirmed. “So does Roy.”

Mike nodded then fell silent, staring unfocused at the sheet lying in a heap in the middle of the bed. 

“What about this other girl… the – what is it? Pirelli?” Steve asked and Haseejian nodded. “What about her?”

“Pinelli,” Healey corrected, “and we’re still trying to track her down. We have some feelers out but nobody seems to know where she lives. The school lost track of her and her friends haven’t seen her in a couple of months. She moved out of her parents house. They gave us an address but she’s not living there either.”

“We made sure the parents weren’t unduly alarmed… we used that ‘accident eye-witness’ ploy again. Works every time,” Haseejian added with a wry smile.

“Yeah, we figure if we can track her down, and get her to talk to us… I mean, I’m hoping she wasn’t raped, god forbid you know, but if she was…” Healey let the thought peter out.

There was a short, uncomfortable silence, then Steve asked quietly, “Do you think there might be more?”

“Well,” Haseejian began with a heavy sigh, “we got together with Sean Whiting again today – he’s the sergeant from sex crimes that brought the Patterson girl to us yesterday – and he’s already going through their files to see if there’ve been any similar rapes in the past couple of years anywhere in the city – I mean, these guys have a car, right? And we’re going to get in touch with the hospitals tomorrow and see if any girls had come in but left before any paperwork could be started, you know what I mean?”

Steve nodded. “Good idea.”

“Still,” Healey said gloomily, “it’s gonna be a slog. We don’t have any real evidence yet, just word of mouth, you know. It’s gonna be tough.”

“It’s the car,” Mike said softly and three pairs of surprised eyes spun in his direction. He looked up into his partners green eyes. “It’s all about the car.”


	21. Chapter 21

“What do you mean?” Steve asked.

Mike was still staring at him; there was a look in his eyes that the younger man hadn’t seen in awhile.

“That’s why he ran,” the lieutenant said slowly and quietly, as if he was working through the various possibilities as he spoke. “He didn’t have to take the car…” He pushed himself away from the headboard, as if his entire body was suddenly focused and on alert.

The blue eyes flicked quickly to the two sergeants. “Think about it,” he said, raising his left hand, his gaze turning inward, “Russell was obviously in the house when Steve and I went down the driveway to the garage. Did he see us?” He shrugged. “He must have… so then why did it take him more than an hour to decide to run? And why take the car? He could’ve just slipped out the back door and gone down the alley… Why be so obvious as to take the car?” He shrugged to himself. “Because there was something in the car that he didn’t what anybody to see?”

The sergeants glanced at each other, frowning. Healey looked back at his boss. “But the lab boys and the guys in the garage have gone over what’s left of the Imperial with fine-toothed combs. They didn’t find anything.”

Mike pursed his lips and shook his head. “Then they missed something,” he said quietly, almost to himself. 

Brow furrowed in consternation, Steve looked from his colleagues to his partner. “What?”

Mike looked at him, shrugging and shaking his head with a slight smile. “I don’t know,” he admitted, “but something… I’ll stake my life on it.”

With raised eyebrows, Steve looked back at Healey and Haseejian. He smiled with a short dry snort. “You heard the man.”

“Yeah,” Healey said slowly, continuing to frown. He looked at Haseejian. “Well, partner, I guess we’ve got to pay a trip to the impound yard first thing tomorrow morning.”

“I guess we do,” Haseejian agreed with a slow nod, looking at Mike with barely concealed wonder.

Glancing at his watch, Healey got to his feet. “Listen, ah, we better get outa here. I want to get home for dinner tonight for a change and get a good night’s sleep. I have a feeling it’s gonna be a busy day tomorrow.”

Chuckling, Haseejian got up as well. “When isn’t it lately?” he growled good-naturedly as he stepped towards the door, joining his partner. “Gentlemen,” he nodded to Steve, who had also stood, and Mike, still sitting on the bed, “have a good night and we’ll, ah, we’ll see you soon.”

Healey opened the door. “Get better soon, both of you,” he said, looking from one to the other, “we really need you back in the office.”

“We’re gonna try,” Steve laughed sharply as he held the door for the sergeants to exit. “See you.”

“Thanks, fellas,” Mike called from the bed as Healey and Haseejian disappeared. 

Steve closed the door and turned to the room, meeting and holding Mike’s stare. After a few seconds of silence, he asked quietly, “You really think there’s something in that car that’ll point the finger at Russell for the rape?”

Mike nodded slowly. “Yeah, I do…” Suddenly he pushed himself to the side of the bed and stood up, heading towards the door.

“Where are you going?”

Moving past Steve, he opened the door then turned back. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I don’t intend to spend one more night here. Not when my life and my career are hanging in the balance.” He had taken a step out the door when he felt Steve’s hand on his arm. He stopped and looked back.

“I’m with you on that, a hundred percent but, look, it’s almost dinnertime and we really can’t get anything done tonight. Let’s stay here again tonight and we can leave first thing in the morning. How does that sound?” He raised his eyebrows questioningly. “Besides, if both our homes are still unoccupied tonight, maybe those parasitic reporters will realize we’re not around and take off.”

Mike listened to him with an impatient frown, which had gradually softened. He smiled and nodded. “You got a good point, buddy boy.” He sighed heavily. “All right, we’ll, ah, we’ll stay here tonight but as soon as the sun comes up – pffft!” He jerked his left thumb over his shoulder. 

Steve chuckled. “I’m with ya.” He glanced back at the desk and the remains of their game. “So, ah, it’s still early… Wanna kick my butt again before we go to dinner?”

Laughing and shaking his head, Mike stepped back through the door, picked up one of the chairs and brought it over to the desk.

# # # # #

The Yellow Cab slid around the corner from 18th onto De Haro and slowed almost to a complete stop. Mike in the front seat and Steve in the back both leaned forward to stare through the windshield up the street.

“I don’t see anybody, do you?” Mike asked softly, including the driver in his observational request. 

“No,” Steve said softly, almost squinting up the street and shaking his head slightly.

The cab driver glanced at Mike then over his shoulder towards the back seat, frowning. “Um, what are you looking for?”

“People… reporters… camped out on the sidewalk about midway up the next block on the right,” the older man growled without taking his eyes from the street.

“Oh… okay.” The driver shrugged almost imperceptibly, turning back to look out the window with a bewildered smirk. “Well, I don’t see nobody.”

Mike turned to him with a whimsical half-smile. “You don’t, don’t you?” 

The confused cabbie shook his head. 

“Okay, well then, let’s go,” Mike chuckled, pointing up De Haro.

# # # # #

Mike closed the door, checked the curtains were fully drawn, then picked up his suitcase. “You can use Jeannie’s room,” he said as he started up the stairs. 

With a nod and a chuckle, Steve picked up his own suitcase and followed. He thought back to the exchange they’d had earlier that morning when Mike had informed him they would be staying at his house in Potrero. Steve longed for the comfort of his own bed but Mike had quickly nixed that idea.

“We don’t want anybody knowing we’re in town, do we?” he’d asked rhetorically. “So if we both go back to our own homes, somebody’s gonna catch on. And as soon as Rudy finds out we’re not at the motel anymore, he’s gonna go to your place and he’s gonna come here.”

Steve had frowned. “Well, yeah, so why –?”

With a long-suffering glare, Mike sighed. “We’re gonna leave your car in front of your place and mine here. I have a neighbor who’ll lend me their car… And whose front stairs do you think Rudy’ll climb to see if we’re there…?”

Steve’s skeptical stare slowly morphed into a knowing grin and he shook his head. “Good thinking…” he chuckled dryly, conceding the point.

As he followed Mike to the second floor, he asked, “So where do we go next?”

“We’re not going anywhere. We’re going to stay here for awhile. I want to talk to Dan but I don’t want to call him at the office in case someone else answers the phone. So I’m gonna call his wife and get her to get ahold of him and get him to call me here.”

“Sneaky…” Steve chuckled. “I like the way your mind works.”

# # # # #

Twenty-one-year-old Janet Pinelli had seemed to disappear off the face of the earth. She hadn’t visited a hospital, opened a bank account, applied for a driver’s license, registered to vote, notified the post office about a change of address or called her parents in almost two months. If she was still alive, she was probably renting a room somewhere, by the week, as did many of the idealistic young people who still poured into The City so many years after the Summer of Love.

Healey was getting frustrated. They were running out of options. 

Earlier that morning, he and Haseejian had stopped at the impound yard on their way to the Hall and had another look at the Imperial. Despite what Mike had said last night, there was still nothing about the large Chrysler that stood out for them. A quick visit to Charlie in the lab confirmed that nothing of a forensic nature had turned up in the Imperial, but were then cautioned by the genial technician that not only had he and his team not been looking for anything connected to a rape, but that the car had been soaked with water from a fire hose at the scene.

Discouraged, the two Homicide sergeants had trudged into the office and sunk heavily into their desk chairs. 

“What’s the matter with you two?” Tanner asked with a chuckle, looking at them from his own desk, a hand over the receiver up to his ear.

“Dead ends,” growled Haseejian as he dropped his notebook on the desk and flipped it open.

Tanner nodded towards Healey blotter with his chin. “You got a phone call. From someone named Patterson –“ He quickly pulled his hand away from the mouthpiece of the phone under his chin. “Yes, yes, I’m still here…” 

Healey sat forward quickly and picked the small pink memo from the corner of the green blotter. Glancing at Haseejian with raised eyebrows, he picked up his phone and began to dial.

# # # # #

The moss green Galaxie pulled to the curb down the block from the rundown three-storey walk-up on Shotwell. Glancing again at the address on the piece of paper in his hand, Healey lead the way to the second floor. A brass ‘4’ hung crookedly against the peeling dark blue paint of the battered and worn wooden door.

With an uncomfortable grimace, Healey knocked. There was no response and no sound from inside the unit. He was just about to knock again when the door opened suddenly as far as the chain would allow. At first they couldn’t see anyone then a tiny dark-haired young woman appeared in the opening, staring up at them with wide dark eyes partially hidden behind long uncut bangs.

Both sergeants held out their credentials so she could see them. “I’m Sergeant Healey and this is Sergeant Haseejian with the San Francisco Police. Are you Janet Pinelli?”

The frightened eyes went from the badges back to their faces and after a long second, she nodded hesitantly. 

Healey smiled engagingly. “Miss Pinelli, would we be able to talk to you about an incident that happened a couple of months ago?”

# # # # #

Steve wandered in from the kitchen with a fresh cup of coffee to see Mike hanging up the phone. The older man turned quickly towards him and pointed. “Put that down and grab your coat. We’re going out.”

Steve’s head went back slightly. “Where are we going?”

“The Hall.”

“What? Mike, we can’t show up at the Hall. We’re persona non grata there right now, remember? Not to mention Rudy’ll have our asses in a sling if he catches us.”

“He’s not gonna catch us,” Mike said, struggling into his black windbreaker with his one useful hand then grabbing a black baseball cap from the closet shelf. “Get your coat on,” he ordered.

With a frustrated shrug, Steve disappeared into the kitchen to pour the coffee down the sink then stalked to the front door and picked up his jacket. Mike was standing in the open doorway with the car keys in his hand. He grinned as Steve grabbed them as he passed, heading down the steep concrete steps to the neighbors’ brand new canary yellow Ford Pinto.

# # # # #

“You guys got here fast,” Haseejian chuckled as Mike and Steve walked through the outer office door. 

“Steve knows the shortcuts,” Mike smiled as he glanced around the almost empty room, taking off the cap and stuffing it into the windbreaker pocket. “I haven’t been in here in years.”

“Well, since they shut down this part of the floor, there are a couple of these empty rooms,” Healey said, getting up from his perch on the end of the lone table. There were no chairs. “You guys come in the back way?”

“Yeah, and up the stairs… six floors!” Steve smiled at his partner with bemused irritation. “I thought I knew all the nooks and crannies in this place but I’ve never been up here before.”

“Listen, when you walk these halls for the past – don’t ask me how many years….” Mike laughed, “you even get to know where all the skeletons are buried.” He pointed at the ceiling and winked.

Haseejian’s face fell and he leaned towards his partner. “He’s joking, right?” he asked sotto voce.

Mike raised his eyebrows quickly a couple of times and smiled enigmatically. 

“I’m not sure,” Healey whispered back.

Steve cleared his throat pointedly and Mike glanced at him, suddenly all business. “So, ah, where is she?” He took off his windbreaker and tossed it on the table, picking up the yellow legal length pad and six sharpened pencils that were sitting there. Healey pointed to the door at the far end of the room and the lieutenant took a step towards it.

“Mike, we don’t have the authority –“

The older man held up his hand. “I know, I know… I just want to sit in on the interrogation. After all, which one of you guys has a daughter around Janet Pinelli’s age?” He looked at the two sergeants. “Okay, fellas, let’s hear what she has to say.”


	22. Chapter 22

“Just a second,” Mike said suddenly as Healey was about to open the door. Everyone stopped and looked at him. He chuckled. “I can’t take notes or write out questions with my left hand… nobody – including me – would be able to read them.” Tossing the pad and pencils back onto the table, he began to undo the buttons on his blue-and-white checked shirt with his left hand.

With a sigh and shake of his head, Steve stepped closer to help. The buttons undone, Mike slipped his right forearm out of the sling; his upper arm was still strapped to his chest. Pulling the sling over his head and tossing it on his jacket, he shook his right hand to get the feeling back in it, flexing his fingers, then, with Steve’s assistance, slid his arm into the sleeve and pulled it up as far as it would go. Mike rebuttoned the shirt then rolled the right sleeve up so it didn’t cover his hand. He stared down at himself and shrugged. “Well, I’ve looked worse, I guess,” he chuckled self-deprecatingly.

Healey led the way into the small windowless room. Janet Pinelli, looking years younger than her actual age, sat on a hard wooden chair on the far side of the gray metal table. There were two similar chairs on the near side, and two more against the wall by the door.

Healey and Haseejian sat in the two chairs at the table. With a non-threatening smile, Mike stood behind the sergeants and nodded when she looked up apprehensively. Steve hovered near the door after closing it quietly.

“Miss Pinelli,” Haseejian began warmly, “these are the officers we were telling you about.” He gestured with his head. “Lieutenant Stone and Inspector Keller.”

Both detectives smiled at her. “Miss Pinelli,” Mike said genially as he put the pad and pencils on the table, “with your permission, we’d like to sit in while Sergeants Healey and Haseejian talk to you. Is that all right?”

She glanced shyly from Mike, with the bulky tensor bandages visible under his shirt. to Steve, with the cast on his right arm, then nodded quickly and nervously. She dropped her eyes to her lap again; they could see she was wringing her hands under the table.

“Thank you,” Mike said quietly as he picked up one of the chairs by the door, brought it to the end of the table near Healey and sat, pulling the pad and pencils closer. Trying to mask a wince of discomfort, he picked up one of the pencils and rested his right hand on the pad. 

Haseejian slipped a small cassette recorder out of his jacket pocket and placed it in the middle of the table. With an encouraging nod at the obviously frightened young woman, he pressed the Play and Record buttons simultaneously. They all could hear the soft whirring of the spindles as the tape began to roll past the recording head.

Healey looked at Janet and smiled. “Wednesday, March 23rd, 1971, 5:24 pm. Initial interview of Janet Pinelli by Sergeants Norm Haseejian and Dan Healey, San Francisco Homicide.”

Her eyebrows shot up suddenly and she froze; she hadn’t heard them use that word before. Both sergeants smiled and nodded at her comfortingly and they could see her relax slightly, lowering her head.

“So, Miss Pinelli…” Healey began as she looked at him from under a furrowed brow. 

“Please call me Janet,” she interrupted abruptly, her head coming up. “I’m sorry…” She ducked her head again.

Healey smiled. “Nothing to be sorry about… Janet. Thank you. You can call me Dan, okay?”

With a tiny but grateful smile, she nodded.

“Good. So, Janet, we need you to repeat, for the tape recorder, what you told Norm and me when we talked to you this morning. Is that okay?”

Staring at Healey, Janet nodded then looked at Mike, who was smiling encouragingly. “You’re the cops who got hurt in that accident, aren’t you?” she asked softly.

Steve leaned forward in the chair near the door and Mike nodded slowly. “Yes, we are,” he answered kindly. “You heard about the accident?”

She nodded, blinking quickly. “Everybody’s heard about it… it was in the papers. I saw it… Freddie was driving the other car…”

At the mention of Russell’s name, a tiny chill went up Mike’s spine and he turned his head slightly to catch Steve’s eye. His partner was staring at the young woman, his nostrils flaring slightly.

“How do you know Freddie Russell?” Haseejian asked as if in passing.

Her eyes shot to him quickly, her brow furrowing. She started breathing heavier. “I went to school with him.”

“So do you know the guys he hangs around with – Graham Baker and Calvin Young?”

With a dismissive snort, her eyes dropped to the table. “Everybody knows them…” she almost whispered.

“Why is that?”

She looked up quickly again, this time with anger. “Because they’re bastards… and everybody knows that.”

“Okay,” Healey said slowly. He shifted in the chair and leaned a little closer. “You’re friends with Carole Patterson, aren’t you?”

Her hard look softened slightly. She raised her left hand and beginning to gnaw on her thumbnail as if unaware of what she was doing. “We were…”

Deciding to let that pass for the moment, he continued, “She says that Freddie and Gray and Cal,” he began, using the diminutives deliberately, “well, she says that they raped her about six months ago. Did she tell you about that?”

The four detectives were watching her closely; the nail chewing stopped as she froze almost imperceptibly but her expression didn’t change. “Yeah, she told me,” she answered almost casually. 

“Did you believe her?” Healey asked gently.

She continued to chew, staring straight ahead, then nodded. “Yeah, I believed her.”

“Why?”

Her eyes finally shifted to his face and she lowered her left hand. “Because they did that to me.”

Everybody froze, every breath held for a split second before they recovered. It was the answer they were all hoping to hear. 

Clearing his throat slightly, Haseejian put his forearms on the table and laced his fingers. He tilted his head before asking quietly, “When did this happen, Janet?”

Her eyes had drifted back down as she resumed chewing on her nail. “About two months ago.”

“Can you tell us what happened?” he promoted gently.

She stopped chewing and looked at her nail. “Will it put them in jail?”

Haseejian glanced at his partner. “It could… it very well could,” he said encouragingly, not making any promises but hoping his tone of voice would convince her to continue.

She nodded to herself, her lips pressed together. “Good… good…” They waited while she stared into space, seeming to gather her thoughts and her courage. “We, ah… we were at a party and we were all drinking…” she snorted mirthlessly, “a lot… and someone was passing weed around… we were all pretty stoned…”

“Where was the party?” Healey asked quietly.

Not looking at him, she shook her head and snorted. “I don’t know the address… it was somewhere on Sanchez, I think, but I’m not sure…”

“Did the assault happen there?”

Her brow furrowed and she stared at him in confusion. “Do you mean the rape?” she asked matter-of-factly.

Healey shifted uncomfortably and softly cleared his throat. “Ah, yes, I mean the rape,” he confirmed and she shook her head.

“No… no, it wasn’t there.” She looked away.

“Where did it happen?” Haseejian asked carefully when she didn’t continue.

“I don’t know…” The sergeants glanced at each other and Healey was just about to ask what she meant when her eyes snapped to him again and she said, “They, ah…” she shrugged, “I guess they kidnapped me…”

Healey leaned closer. “What do you mean, they kidnapped you?”

She continued to stare at him. “They put me in their car… in the trunk…” She almost smiled as she looked away. “It was so dark… I tried to get out but I couldn’t… then they stopped somewhere…” She shook her head vaguely. “I don’t know where… somewhere in Golden Gate Park, I know that… I remember walking down Stanton when the sun came up…”

“How did you get home?” Haseejian asked softly. 

She blinked heavily a couple of times before her eyes finally settled on him and her eyebrows rose. “I walked…” she explained pedantically, like they should have known.

“You didn’t go to the hospital… or the police?”

She shook her head, looking down again.

“Was it, ah… was it all three of them that raped you, Janet?” Healey asked gently and she nodded. 

“Yeah,” she whispered, “they held me down and they put their hands over my mouth…” Her voice drifted away. “Gray… he was first… he’s sorta their… ringleader, I guess. They always do what he tells them to do.” She took a deep shuddering breath. “I hate him…” She rubbed the back of her right hands across her eyes but remarkably there were no tears. “Freddie was next… “

“How did they get you into the car?” Haseejian kept his voice low and soothing.

“I, ah… I needed to go to the bathroom… they were waiting for me when I got out… one of them grabbed me from behind…” She cocked her head and her eyes unfocused. “It must’ve been Gray… he’s the biggest and the strongest… He put his hand over my mouth and carried me out of the house. I know I was struggling but one of them hit me…” She inhaled sharply and her right hand went to her temple. She touched the side of her head lightly. “I was woozy but I didn’t pass out… I don’t think I did…”

“What happened next?”

“I, ah, I felt the car moving… I think it was going fast but I couldn’t be sure… and I knew I had to get out of there…”

Healey glanced at his partner. “Do you remember what kind of car it was, Janet?”

Looking down, she shook her head. “No… but it was big… and a dark colour.” She shrugged. “Black or blue, I don’t know…”

“Was there anything in the trunk, do you remember?”

She shook her head again. “I don’t remember… um, maybe some cardboard, like a box or something… maybe an old blanket… I don’t remember, sorry…”

“That’s okay,” Healey said warmly, “you’re doing great.” He looked at his partner, his eyes wide. He could feel his heart pounding and hoped she couldn’t hear it in the quiet room. Beside him, he could see Mike writing something on the pad. Wordlessly, the lieutenant turned the pad around so he could read it.

With a quick nod, Healey leaned towards the troubled young girl again. “Janet, you said you tried to get out of the car. What did you do?”

The tiny smile reappeared. “I tried to open the latch… from inside… but I couldn’t. There wasn’t enough light to see it…” She glanced at Mike for the first time. “My dad told me how to do it… years ago… but I couldn’t do it…”

Continuing the eye contact, Mike turned the pad around, wrote something without looking and spun it again so Healey could read it again. 

“Did you use just your hands… or something else?”

She continued to stare at Mike, as if taking comfort in his fatherly countenance. Her eyebrows rose in what looked like surprise. “No, I, ah, I used a nail file… I had one in my purse. I thought I could use it to lift the latch, but I couldn’t get it to work.” She almost chuckled. “I scratched the hell out of the inside of the trunk though, I’m sure of that…”

They all froze. Mike pulled the pad closer and started to write furiously but Healey knew what to ask. While everyone held their breaths, he leaned forward slightly and asked slowly. “Janet, do you still have that nail file?”

She frowned, her confused eyes sliding from Mike to Healey to Haseejian then back to Healey. This time she did smile. “Yeah… yeah, I do… it’s at home. Why?”

It was Healey’s turn to smile. “Miss Pinelli – ah, sorry, Janet,” he chuckled engagingly, “would you be willing to let Sergeant Haseejian and me escort you home so you could get it for us?”

Her brow still furrowed in perplexity, she nodded and shrugged. “Sure…”

Healey and Haseejian both sat back, allowing themselves to finally relax. Mike felt a hand on his shoulder and a firm squeeze; he turned his head slightly to see Steve staring at him with a warm and impressed smile.


	23. Chapter 23

Steve watched as Healey and Haseejian escorted Janet Pinelli out into the sixth floor hallway. When the door closed, he turned to look at his partner. The older man was standing in the middle of the room, leaning with his left arm on the table, his eyes closed. He was swaying slightly.

Alarmed, Steve crossed to him quickly. “You okay?”

Keeping his eyes closed, Mike nodded but didn’t smile. “I just have a headache,” he admitted.

“I’m not surprised,” Steve muttered, trying to keep his sudden anger in check, putting hjs left hand on Mike’s arm to steady him, “the doctors told you you had to take it easy for awhile. This is not taking it easy.” 

A small smile managed to emerge. “I know, but it had to be done.”

Knowing it would be futile and frustrating to argue, Steve started to undo the buttons on Mike’s shirt. “Here, let’s get the sling back on and then I’m taking you home.” He slid the shirt off Mike’s right arm and slipped the sling over his head, repositioning his right forearm then doing the buttons back up. “And we’re taking the elevator down.” It was a statement, not a suggestion.

Keeping his eyes closed, Mike shook his head as much as he dared. “No… no, somebody’ll see us.”

“I don’t give a damn about that right now –“

“Steve!”

The younger man stopped, the black windbreaker in his hands, and looked up to see the blue eyes staring at him. “Everything is at stake here… and you know that. If anyone finds out we were here, then all this will have been for nothing. And I’m not going to let that happen.”

“But we’re on the tape…”

“I know that,” Mike growled almost angrily, “and I’ll deal with that when and if the time comes… but for now, until we can wrap this up, nobody knows we’re here… all right?”

They stared at each other, one in defiance, the other in concern. Steve was the first to blink, and he shook his head in frustration and acquiescence. Without a word, he handed Mike the jacket, stepped back and opened the door. 

Taking the black ballcap out of the windbreaker pocket and putting it on his head, Mike walked past his partner and out into the corridor, a soft and grateful smile on his lips.

Still angry, Steve caught up then led the way down the corridor to the back stairwell. He opened the heavy metal door quietly, pausing to listen. Hearing nothing, he held the door open for Mike then started down the stairs.

It took almost as long to descend to the first floor as it has taken just a couple of hours earlier to climb to the sixth. Mike was moving slowly and carefully, each step aggravating the dull throb in the back of his skull. He began to feel nauseous; his steps got even slower and his grip on the railing tighter.

When they finally got to the first floor, Steve opened the door to the parking lot, stuck his head out and looked around. Deeming it safe, he turned to his partner. “Wait here. I’ll go get the car and bring it closer.”

Without waiting for a reply, and somehow knowing he wasn’t going to get one, he slipped out the door and crossed quickly to the Pinto. By the time he’d pulled it to a stop at the foot of the short flight of concrete steps, Mike was waiting. Without a word, he got in, laid his head against the back of seat and closed his eyes. 

The drive to De Haro was made in silence.

# # # # #

Healey and Haseejian were standing just inside the front door of the squalid, sparsely furnished apartment. They could hear items being tossed around in a room down the short hall.

The sounds stopped. Janet Pirelli came through the doorway and approached them almost confidently. She was smiling slightly and holding something in her right fist. “I found it,” she said almost breathlessly, stopping before them and opening her hand. In her palm was a small silver nail file.

Healey exhaled loudly with a slight chuckle as he carefully picked up the file, bringing it closer to his eyes and turning it slightly in the dim light from the overhead fixture. On the handle he could barely make out the stamped letters ‘May rostfrei’; on the curved tip at the top he could see what looked like dark blue or black paint.

Eyes widening, he glanced at his partner and nodded. 

Janet was looking from one detective to the other expectantly. “Is that what you wanted?”

Haseejian grinned. “It sure is. Ah, listen,” he said, starting to dig into his pocket, “we’re probably going to have to interview you again, if you don’t mind?” He paused, waiting for her to nod. “And, ah, if all goes as well as we hope, we’re gonna need you to testify against Freddie Russell and the others…”

Her eyes were wide but her stare was steady and she nodded. “Sure.” Her voice had lost its hesitancy.

Haseejian pulled some bills out of his pocket and he held out a twenty. “Here,” he said with a smile and encouraging nod, “get yourself some groceries.” He glanced pointedly at Healey who, taking the hint, did the same.

She fingered the money as if she’d never seen that much before and smiled up at them shyly. “Thanks…”

# # # # #

Mike was sitting on the edge of his bed, eyes closed. Steve entered the room with a small glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol; he put the glass on the nightstand. Transferring the pill bottle from his right fingers to his left hand, he struggled with mounting frustration to open the child-resistant cap with what limited mobility he had, eventually succeeding.

“Here,” he said quietly and the older man opened his eyes. “Hold out your hand.” He tapped two pills onto Mike’s palm and, when he put them in his mouth, handed him the glass. “Lie down,” he instructed gently. 

The covers already pushed out of the way, Mike closed his eyes again as he shifted position to lie on his back, turning his head to the left on the pillow; the area around the burr hole was still sensitive.

Steve pulled the sheet and blanket up then sat on the edge of the bed; Mike’s breaths were already deep and even.

It had been a long and very productive day, but it had obviously taken its toll. How much he wasn’t sure.

He laid his left hand tenderly on the side of older man’s face, gently stroking his cheek with his thumb. In his young life he had never loved someone as much as he loved this man, of that he was certain. And he also knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that the sentiment was reciprocated.

No matter what lay ahead, he knew, they would face it together.

# # # # #

As they walked back to the car, Healey fished a plastic evidence bag out of his jacket pocket and shook it open. He glanced at his partner as he slipped the nail file into it, closed, folded and slipped it back into his pocket. 

Haseejian was grinning. “I can’t believe she just handed it to us like it was nothing. That little thing could blow open the entire case,” he chortled as they got to the car. He circled to the driver’s side.

“Yeah, well, we still have to check out the trunk of the Imperial. If, like she said, she ‘scratched the hell out of it’ – and from the looks of this,” he patted his pocket, “she did – well, that’s something a fire hose can’t destroy. Now we just have to hope the accident didn’t do that. It did hit that concrete barrier tail end first, didn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Haseejian growled, getting behind the wheel and putting the key in the ignition. He glanced at his watch. “It’s too late to go to Impound tonight, so we’ll have to do that first thing in the morning. I wonder how accessible the car is and how long it’ll take till we can see it?” he mused.

Healey chuckled. “Well, no matter how fast it is, it won’t be fast enough for Mike.”

They both laughed as the Galaxie pulled away from the curb.

# # # # #

He woke slowly. It took a few seconds to realize he was in his own bed and still in his clothes. Keeping his eyes closed, he slid his left hand across his chest to rest on the bindings over his right shoulder. He took several deep breaths then opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling.

“I was wondering when you were gonna wake up,” a familiar voice reached his ears and he smiled. “You slept through the night.”

Steve moved into his field of vision, hovering over him with a coffee cup in his left hand and a warm smile on his face. 

“How are you feeling?”

Mike stretched slightly and groaned. “Awful,” he moaned with a chuckle. “My shoulder’s sore and my head hurts.”

Steve frowned. “You still have a headache?”

Mike shook his head very slightly. “No, not like yesterday… it’s just a dull… you know…” He gestured vaguely with his left hand. “It’ll go away.” He tried a slight smile. “I probably just need a coffee.”

“Coming right up. I have a fresh pot downstairs, and there’s some bacon and eggs all cooked and just waiting for you, if you feel up to it.”

Mike’s smile got a little wider. “Really? Sounds terrific… thanks.”

“Listen, ah, why don’t you get yourself together – but stay in bed,” he warned, pointing a finger, “and I’ll bring your breakfast up. Then I gotta get outa here.”

Mike pushed himself up onto his left elbow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean Norm called me awhile ago and he and Dan are going to have a look at the Imperial this morning. They got the nail file from Janet Pinelli last night; it does have paint or something on it and they’ve already taken it in to Charlie. And the guys at Impound are going to have the Imperial ready to look at again in about a half hour. And I am going to be there,” he finished with raised eyebrows as he started towards the bedroom door.

“Well, so am I,” his partner said, pushing himself up into a sitting position and tossing the sheet and blanket off his legs before swinging his feet to the floor.

Steve spun back. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Mike froze, frowning. “What?”

“I said, you’re not going anywhere. Your head was so bad last night you almost passed out. Do you really want me bringing you back to Raynis so you can explain yourself to him? You know he’ll have you back in the hospital in a heartbeat.”

Mike’s unblinking stare hadn’t left his partner’s face. After another silent second or two, he lowered his head, closed his eyes and sighed. “Don’t leave me out of it, okay?” he asked softly.

Steve smiled warmly. “Are you kidding? You’re the one that got us where we are right now. Nobody’s leaving you out of anything.”

Nodding slowly and carefully, Mike pushed himself back onto the bed, piling the pillows against the headboard behind him.

“I’ll, ah, I’ll be right back with your breakfast,” Steve said warmly as he disappeared through the door, surprised, and a little worried, that his partner had given up so easily.


	24. Chapter 24

“No rush!” Haseejian called out when he saw the young inspector hurrying towards them as fast as he could. “They’re just bringing the car now!”

Steve slowed his pace, joining his colleagues on the rough, pitted and oil-stained asphalt in front of the white trailer inside the spacious, but nearly filled to capacity, fenced-in impound yard. 

“They got to bring it by forklift,” Healey chuckled, staring at the new arrival from behind dark glasses on the bright and crisp San Francisco morning. There was a crisp breeze blowing off the water and all three turned their collars up.

“I haven’t been down here in ages,” Steve laughed softly, glancing around at the large and decaying brick buildings that made up the Pier 70 area. He was breathing a little harder than he should have been and wincing slightly.

“You okay?” Haseejian asked, eyeing him critically.

Steve nodded impatiently. “The ribs still hurt like a sonofabitch sometimes, and everything gets stiff once in awhile, especially when I don’t sleep too well.”

“Oh?” Healey asked with suggestive nonchalance. “And why aren’t you sleeping?”

Bestowing his colleague with a look of feigned exasperation, Steve sighed pointedly. “I’m sleeping in Jeannie’s room, if you must know –“ He saw the eyebrows on both sergeants shoot upward. “She’s in Arizona at university, you perverts!” he snapped quickly, with an appalled snort. “Geez…”

Healey tried, without much conviction, to cover his guffaw with a cough; Haseejian just looked at younger man and laughed, enjoying the moment.

Shaking his head and trying to mask a reluctant grin, Steve took a step back to collect himself. Truth be told, he loved the ribbing; it always made him feel like part of the family. 

“So, ah, you were saying something about not being able to sleep in Jeannie’s bed…?” Healey prompted, his voice high and playfully accusatory; Haseejian was continuing to chuckle.

Sighing and rolling his eyes, Steve smirked. “Ha ha, very funny.” He snorted again then sobered. “And I was a little worried about Mike,” he said quietly and both sergeants suddenly sobered.

“What do you mean?” Haseejian asked with a worried frown.

Steve tilted his head with his eyebrows raised. “He, ah, he developed a really bad headache after the Pinelli interview yesterday…”

“From the…?” Healey gestured vaguely towards the back of his own head and Steve nodded.

“I thought he was gonna pass out before we got home but he made it. He went to bed right away and didn’t wake up till this morning.”

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” Haseejian asked hesitantly.

Steve inhaled deeply and shrugged. “I hoped so but he didn’t look so good when he woke up this morning and he didn’t put up any fight when I told him he had to stay home. That’s got me a little worried…”

The roar of a diesel engine got louder and a forklift truck with a large, crumpled blue sedan on its forks came into view. All three cops glanced in its direction, then Healey turned back to Steve, raising his voice so he could be heard. “Listen, ah, as soon as we finish here, why don’t you get back to him?”

His eyes on the car, Steve nodded. “That’s what I intend to do.”

They watched as the driver stopped about twenty feet away and began to lower the forks. A dark-haired man in his forties wearing a blue-gray coverall, who had been walking beside the forklift, approached them with a friendly smile, wiping his greasy hands on a towel. “Dan, Norm, haven’t seen you guys in awhile,” he chuckled, holding out his right hand for them to shake. He turned to Steve. “I remember seeing you here a couple of times, in uniform. Sergeant Ed Turner.”

“Inspector Steve Keller. I’m with Homicide now.” They shook hands awkwardly. 

“Ah,” Turner said, eyeing the young man and his cast with sudden appreciation. He pointed at the younger man. “You were driving the Galaxie that was in the accident with this thing,” he nodded over his shoulder at the wrecked Imperial, “last week, am I right?”

With a slight, almost uncomfortable smile, Steve nodded. “Yeah.”

“You must be one hell of a driver. From what I heard, you wouldn’t think that anyone could’ve walked away from either of those cars.” There was genuine respect in his tone.

“Well, we didn’t just walk away… we’re still paying the price.”

“Maybe,” Turner continued, “but you’re all still here, and that says a lot, believe me.”  
He turned his attention back to the two sergeants. “So, you guys want to check out the trunk, is that what I heard?”

“Yeah,” Healey said with a heavy sigh, turning his bemused gaze from his young embarrassed colleague to Turner, “if there’s anything left to check out.” 

All of them looked at the wreck, which had been lowered to the ground; the forklift had disappeared. 

“Well, it’s pretty caved in, that’s obvious, but you can see into it a little bit. And we might be able to wrench it open if you need to get inside. What are you looking for?”

Healey began to lead them closer. Eyes riveted to the Imperial, he reached up to rub the back of his neck. “Scratch marks,” he said almost distractedly, eyeing the crumpled metal and chrome, and the remains of taillight glass that had once been the back end of a very expensive car. “On or around the latch release…”

“Sorry I’m late!” a frantic and youthful voice cut through the chilly air and they turned to see a young blond man wearing glasses and a slightly ill-fitting brown corduroy suit, and carrying a silver metal carrying case. “I had a call to cover a fatal car accident an hour ago…” he sputtered as he almost slid to a stop. 

Haseejian, casually eyeing the newcomer with a wry grin and his hands in his pockets, chuckled. “Slow down, Shutter, you’re not late –“

Leaning over to put the case on the ground to open it, the young man looked up sharply. “It’s Clutter, Sergeant Haseejian… my name is Clutter,” he said pointedly, looking up at the smiling detective, trying to keep the pique from his voice, “I’ve told you that before… many times,” he finished quietly, almost to himself.

With a sharp glance at his partner, Healey cleared his throat. “Ah, Brian, no rush, no rush. We just need you to record our examination of the car,” he nodded towards the Imperial as Clutter took a Canon SLR body out of the case.

Nodding, the police photographer glanced towards the car. “So… close-up or what?” he asked and Healey nodded.

“Yeah, we’re looking for scratch marks on the inside of the trunk… so, yeah, pretty close-up I would think.”

Nodding again, and trying to ignore the smirk that remained on Haseejian’s face, Clutter took a short thick lens out of the foam insert and snapped it onto the Canon body. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“Great, all right,” Healey turned to Turner. “Okay, let’s see what we can see first without having to pull the car apart. I’d like that to be our last resort, okay?”

Turner nodded. “Sounds good. But we can get the trunk open if we need to; it won’t take long.”

Nodding, they approached the car; Steve held back. He didn’t want to show up in any of the photographs.

Turner slipped a flashlight out of his coverall pocket, studying the smashed-in trunk trying to find the best way to get a look at the area around the latch release. After a couple of minutes of futile searching, he turned to the others, shaking his head. “We’re gonna have to pry the trunk open. It’s gonna take a few minutes. But don’t worry,” he added quickly, ”I promise we won’t damage any potential areas of interest… we’ll be very careful.”

The Homicide sergeants nodded. “Sure, whatever it takes,” Healey agreed, taking a step back towards Steve as Turner slipped a walkie-talkie out of his back pocket and called for assistance. “Brian, make sure you document all of it, okay? I want our asses completely covered on this.”

“No problem, Sergeant Healey,” Clutter responded pleasantly, shooting an annoyed glance once again in Haseejian’s direction. The Armenian sergeant drifted away with a slight grin and a low chuckle.

“Gonna take a few minutes,” Haseejian said with a facial shrug as he joined his colleagues, studying Steve, “so listen, ah, want to go have a look at what’s left of the Galaxie?”

Expressionless, Steve thought about it for several long seconds then he nodded. “Yeah… yeah, I would.”

Haseejian turned his head towards Turner. “Ed, where’s the Galaxie?”

The Impound officer frowned for a split second then smiled and nodded. He cocked his head to the right. “It’s all the way down that row on the left, up against the fence near a green shed. You can’t miss it.”

He was right; the crumpled tan Galaxie was impossible to miss. All four tires flat, it was resting, hood facing out, close to the fence, with enough room on each side for them to circle it. The first thing Steve noticed was the windows; every one of them was either missing or shattered, the windshield a mass of tiny spiderweb cracks. 

He looked closer at the right front fender and grille; that was the part of the vehicle that had touched the Imperial’s back end, sending them both into a tailspin. He took a deep breath and released it in a rush. The grille and fender were just slightly dented, looking more like the result of a minor fender-bender rather than the catalyst for the rapid but terrifying and painful events that followed.

Shaking his head almost absent-mindedly, he took a step back. Most, if not all, of the damage was on the car’s right side… Mike’s side. He swallowed heavily, his heart pounding as he realized how close he had come to losing his partner, and his thoughts once more returned to the De Haro house and his hopes that everything there was still okay.

Not wanting to touch the car, and not sure if the impulse was purely professional or just superstitious, he stuck his head in through the missing passenger window and looked around the interior. Despite the pounding the car had taken, inside and out, from the fire hose, the seats were still peppered with glass from the broken windows. He thought he could see dried blood on a few pieces then realized it must be his imagination. He shuddered, once more realizing how extraordinarily lucky they had been.

He pulled his head out of the window and looked at the others, who were standing back, hands in their pockets, surveying the wreck. “It’s, ah, it’s not as bad as I thought it was going to be,” he said with a dry chuckle as he joined them. 

“Well, like Ed said, you did a hell of a job keeping it off the wall for as long as you did. That’s what saved you, you know, keeping it from hitting the guardrail straight on. At the speed you were going, you’d both have been killed it you’d hit hood first, you know that, right?” Healey was staring at the young inspector.

Still looking at the car and biting his bottom lip, Steve nodded soberly. “I got lucky, that’s all.”

“Bullshit,” Haseejian snorted, his partner shooting him a grateful smile. 

“Fellas!” they heard Turner yell from the far end of the row. They all turned in that direction. “We’re ready for you!”

Slapping the younger man on the back, Healey began to lead them up the row again towards the Imperial. Clutter was on his knees in front of the camera case. He glanced up as they approached. “Just changing the roll,” he explained quickly, continuing to work.

Healey nodded as they moved closer to the car. The trunk had indeed been opened. As battered as it was, the lid was how elevated, being held aloft by two 2x4’s jammed between the floor of the trunk and the underside of the lid on either side. Turner was leaning over the back, staring at the catch. He shifted position and looked up at the locking mechanism on the lid. Without turning his head he beckoned them closer to the car.

Staying back far enough to keep out of the photos Clutter had resumed taking, Steve watched as Healey and Haseejian flanked Turner, who was pointing up at the area around the latch. “Is, ah, is that what you’re looking for?” he asked.

Steve held his breath.


	25. Chapter 25

A half-filled paper bag under his right arm, Steve unlocked the front door and slipped into the living room, closing the door before turning on the light. He had checked the street several times before climbing the steps to the house, making sure no one, that he could see anyway, was watching him. 

With the curtains constantly drawn, the house had acquired a gloomy presence. There were no other lights on in the house and it was eerily quiet. His heart started to pound. 

Dropping the keys on the side table, he zipped into the kitchen to put the bag on the counter before taking the stairs two at a time. The master bedroom door was closed and he couldn’t see any light under it. Without knocking, he quietly turned the knob and stepped inside, the illumination from the hallway falling across the room and onto the bed.

Mike was still in it. He caught his breath, leaving the door open and padding across the room as quickly as he dared. He reached for the bedside lamp, his trembling fingers fumbling for the switch. As he turned it, he heard quietly, “It’s okay, I’m awake.”

The light snapped on. Mike, in pajamas, was laying under the a thick wool blanket with his head resting on a couple of pillows, staring at him.

Steve smiled despite himself, almost overwhelmed with relief. “Have you been in bed since I left?”

Mike nodded carefully, closing his eyes as he did so. “Yeah. I got changed, as you can see,” he chuckled softly, “but I didn’t feel like getting up.”

Steve fingered the blanket. “Are you cold?”

Mike nodded again. “Yeah, I couldn’t get warm… I still can’t.”

Transferring his left hand from the blanket to his partner’s forehead, Steve sat on the edge of the bed. “You feel hot. I think you’re running a temperature.” He lowered his hand. “I think you should go back and see Dr. Raynis.”

Shaking his head and smiling, Mike chuckled. “No no no, I don’t need to do that. Listen, ah, just give me two more of those,” he nodded at the Tylenol bottle on the nightstand, “ and that should do the trick.” He stared at his young friend with a disarming smile. 

Steve inhaled deeply and stared back then shook his head in defeat. “All right. But if you’re still running a temperature tonight, I’m taking you back in, do you hear me?” 

Mike nodded reluctantly. “But tomorrow morning… not tonight, okay?”

Another stare-off, another concession. “All right, tomorrow morning. Do you still have a headache?”

Mike shook his head.

“You’re not lying, are you?”

The older man looked appropriately affronted. “I don’t lie to you.”

“Yeah, right,” Steve growled with a sarcastic chuckle as he got to his feet and started for the door. “Have you eaten anything since I left?”

“No.” 

“I picked up a few groceries on the way home. I’m gonna make myself a BLT. Do you want one, with a ginger ale? Or would you like something hotter?”

Mike smiled warmly and pushed himself up onto his left elbow. “That sounds delicious. And I think I’ll be okay with the ginger ale,” he chuckled and watched affectionately as the young man disappeared down the stairs. 

Shuddering slightly, he pulled the blanket up with his left hand and closed his eyes, wincing.

# # # # #

About fifteen minutes later, Steve gingerly climbed the stairs, precariously balancing a large tray atop his cast and holding it tightly with his other hand. Not taking his eyes from the tray, he crossed the floor. “Make room,” he ordered urgently as he neared the bed and began to crouch. 

Scooting to the far side of the bed, Mike watched breathlessly as Steve carefully lowered the tray. Safely down, he stood back and grinned. “Wasn’t sure I was gonna make it there for a second,” he chuckled. “I’ll be right back with our drinks.”

“One at a time, I hope,” Mike called after him, laughing, then looked at the two mouth-watering BLT’s and waited for Steve’s return.

Finally ready to indulge, and having downed two Tylenol with his first sip of ginger ale, Mike set the plate on his lap and picked up the sandwich, eyeing it appreciably before taking the first bite. His eyebrows rose in appreciation. “Wow, I’ve gotta start letting you make our lunches more often. This is impressive.”

With a grin and bobble of his head, Steve chuckled around a mouthful. “Why thank you, sir.” He was sitting in the vanity chair from Jeannie’s bedroom, the plate balanced on his knees.

Mike was about to take another bite when he stopped and looked at the younger man with raised eyebrows. “Oh my god, I forgot where it was you went this morning!” He lowered the sandwich. “So what happened? Were we lucky? Were there scratches in the trunk?”

His face betraying nothing, Steve chewed and swallowed, then put the remainder of his BLT on the plate before sitting back. “Well,” he began slowly, moving his head as if to shake it, then he grinned and nodded. “There sure were. A lot of them.”

Mike exhaled loudly and happily, glancing at the ceiling. He chuckled. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time. So, what’s gonna happen now?”

“Well, Norm and Dan are going to get Charlie down to Impound and have him compare the paint on the nail file, such as it is, and the scratches on the car to see if he can make a match – both with the paint and how the scratches look… you know, if they could’ve been made by a nail file, that kinda thing. Don’t know how he’s going to do it, but that’s his department, not ours.”

“When’s that going to happen?” Mike finished the first half of his sandwich.

“Tomorrow sometime. Charlie’s tied up with another case for Robbery right now.”

Balling his left hand into a fist, Mike pounded it against the mattress several times. He sighed loudly and shook his head in relief then looked at his partner with a warm smile. “Good job,” he said quietly as he reached for the rest of his sandwich.

Steve laughed. “Hey, I didn’t do anything… I’ve been kind of a witness to everything these past couple of days.”

Mike snorted. “Don’t underestimate yourself –“ he began, then stopped abruptly. The phone was ringing. Automatically, Steve dropped his sandwich onto the plate and reached out to pick up the receiver. “Don’t!” Mike yelled and he stopped mid-motion, his eyes snapping to the older man. His brows high and eyes wide, Mike glanced pointedly at the phone. “That’s probably Rudy. He’s probably figured out we’re not at the motel anymore and he’s trying to find us.”

Steve pulled his hand away as if the phone was white hot. 

Mike chuckled. “We’re hiding, remember?” 

“Right.”

The ringing finally stopped but they continued to stare at the phone for several seconds just to make sure. Satisfied, Mike looked at the younger man again. He sighed almost contentedly. 

“We’re not out of the nightmare quite yet, buddy boy, but we’re getting closer… I can feel it.” Mike moved his empty plate to the tray.

Steve smiled. “Me too,” he said with a gentle laugh and a shake of the head. He ran his left hand through his hair then nodded towards the other man with his chin. “You feeling any better?” he asked as he picked up what remained of his sandwich to finish it.

Mike bobbed his head from side to side. “A little, I think. I’m not as cold anymore, so that’s definitely better. But I think I’m gonna stay here for the rest of the day.” He patted the mattress with his left hand then raised it to stop the comment he knew would be coming. “And don’t worry about me, I’m fine. I know I’m nowhere near a hundred percent yet and I want to be there for the… the coup de gras so to speak,” he said with a grin and a flourish, “so I’m showing some… self-restraint and allowing my head… and everything else,” he rolled his eyes with a chuckle, “to heal a little more before I try to do too much.” He met the frowning green eyes evenly. “There, is that what you wanted to hear?”

Steve stared at him expressionlessly for a couple of seconds then smiled affectionately. He sat on the edge of the bed and put his hand on Mike’s forehead, then nodded with relief. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear, thank you. And you don’t feel as hot anymore. Things are looking up,” he said with a smile as he stood and picked up the tray with the empty plates and glasses. “Listen, ah, I’m gonna slip out for an hour or so and go to my place, get some more clothes. I’ll be careful,” he said quickly before an objection was raised. 

“You better,” Mike chuckled, watching him. As Steve got to the door, he added, “Hey, ah, thanks for the lunch – that was delicious.”

With a broad grin, Steve laughed. “You’re welcome. Anytime.” As he disappeared through the door and started slowly down the stairs, once more carefully balancing the tray, Mike’s smile disappeared and he swallowed heavily, a worried frown deepening the lines in his face.

# # # # #

He dropped onto the couch and moved the phone to his lap. Stuffing the receiver against his shoulder and under his chin, he dialled the familiar number then grabbed the receiver again before the first ring started. 

“Yeah, Dan, it’s me. Yeah, just wanted to know if anything’s come up?... Yeah, yeah I told Mike. He’s very happy, as you can imagine… No, he’s good, he’s doing good… Okay, so tomorrow morning?... Yeah, I’ll be at Mike’s. Listen, we’re not answering the phone there ‘cause, you know, Rudy – and who knows how long that’s gonna last… Yeah, right. Anyway, you have the number, right?... So let’s do this: call it, let it ring twice then hang up, wait about ten seconds and call again, and one of us’ll pick up. How does that sound?... Perfect, great. Okay, so we’ll - What?... Don Gosselin? He a PBA lawyer, isn’t he?... So, why does he want to talk to Mike and not me?... Yeah, yeah, give me the number and I’ll give him a call. Give me a second, I gotta get something to write on.”

He tucked the receiver under his chin again as he transferred the phone to the couch, stood up and rooted around in the drawer in the endtable looking for a pen and a piece of paper. Mission accomplished, he sat back down, the pen held awkwardly with his right fingertips. “Okay, what’s the number?...Yeah, great, thanks, Dan. Yeah, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

He hung up the phone and stared at it in confusion for several beats before picking up the receiver and dialing again. 

# # # # #

Mike heard the front door open and close and the clink of keys tossed onto the table, followed by the thud of footfalls climbing the stairs. He had pushed the bedroom door partially closed the last time he’d returned from the bathroom and he saw a glimpse of movement as Steve continued down the hallway to Jeannie’s bedroom.

Several seconds later, the door was pushed open and Steve leaned against the frame. His partner was sitting up against a wall of pillows, his reading glasses on and pages of a newspaper scattered around the bed.

Smiling, Mike pulled the glasses off. “How’d it go?”

Steve tilted his head. “No problem. Nobody saw me,” he answered casually.

Mike’s eyes narrowed. He knew something was up. “Everything okay?” he asked almost cautiously.

Steve pushed away from the frame and took a couple of steps deeper into the room. “I talked to Dan. He told me Don Gosselin – the PBA lawyer? That he wanted to talk to you. I thought that was kinda strange, that he wanted to talk to just you and not me. So I gave him a call…”

Mike’s face lost all expression and he blinked slowly. He looked away and swallowed heavily. Steve cleared his throat and the older man’s eyes snapped towards him again.

“Why did you do it, Mike? Why did you tell them you wouldn’t contest the lawsuit if they took my name off it?”


	26. Chapter 26

Mike stared at his partner without expression for several long seconds; the younger man was glaring back challengingly. With a crestfallen sigh, Mike looked away and shook his head slightly, as if to himself.

“If it means anything, I asked for that to happen before the Patterson girl came forward… before I knew there was a chance that we could make it all go away…”

Nodding slowly, his arms still crossed, Steve took another step deeper into the room. “That explains the timing… it doesn’t explain why you did it in the first place.”

Inhaling deeply, Mike’s intense blue eyes bored into him again, this time with more defiance. “I didn’t want your career to end up in the dumpster… like mine… when I was the one that gave you the order to stop that Imperial whatever it took.”

With a dry snort, glancing towards the ceiling, Steve shook his head almost angrily. “So… what? Was I the good little Nazi, just obeying orders?” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

“It’s not like that and you know it!” Mike shot back, genuine anger in his tone.

“Then what is it then?” the younger man snarled, not backing down. He uncrossed his arms and shrugged angrily with a sharp shake of his head, continuing to stare and wait for an answer.

Breathing heavily and rapidly through his nose, Mike met the unblinking green eyes without moving for several long seconds then he slowly closed his eyes. “Guilt,” he almost whispered.

A tense beat later, Steve’s stiff, anticipatory posture relaxed slightly and his brow furrowed. “Mike…” he began gently, “you have nothing –“

“Steve!” the older man cut him off, his eyes snapping open. “I know how close we’ve become in the past couple of years… and it means a lot to me…” He looked down, his features softening. “You have no idea,” he said softly, then looked up again, steel in his eyes. “But I am your boss… your superior officer… and the senior partner in our little team. I’m the one that’s responsible, legally and morally, for any and all decisions that are made in the course of our duties.”

Continuing to meet the empathetic blue-eyed stare, Steve bit his bottom lip, his arms dropping limply to his sides.

“Everything we did that night, Steve,” Mike continued quietly, “everything we did was skirting the edge of legality… and you know that. Hell,” he smiled gently, “you even warned me before I made you go down the driveway and look in those garage windows.” He looked down and blinked several times, the smile lingering a few more seconds before it faded. “You know me, Steve, you know I’m a pretty by-the-book kinda guy most of the time… and I should’ve been this time too.” He paused, his stare far away. “But I wasn’t… and I was wrong… and I almost got you… and myself… and an, at the time we thought, innocent man… killed…” 

A brief melancholy smile played over his lips and he looked back at the young man. “I have to pay for that… mistake. Me. Not you. I made all the decisions that night… not you. And that’s why I did it.”

His face revealing the full extent of his deep disquiet, Steve slowly approached the bed and sat in the chair that was still nearby, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. “We’re partners, Mike…” he started quietly.

The older man nodded, smiling sadly. “Yes, we are… in every way but this… In this, I’m your boss.” He stared without blinking; Steve stared back before closing his eyes slowly and shaking his head. He chuckled dryly. Then, with a look of pure affection that was like a dagger in the older man’s heart, he reached out and laid his left hand against Mike’s face.

“What am I going to do with you?” he whispered with a soft chuckle. 

Mike laughed softly. “You can do me a favor and not fight me on this one… okay?” When Steve didn’t respond, he raised his eyebrows, “Besides, with what we’ve turned up in the past couple of days, hopefully this is all going to be moot anyway.”

With a chuckle, patting Mike’s cheek before dropping his hand, Steve grinned. “Yeah… well, if I have anything to do with it, it’ll be a pleasure to snap the cuffs on that little Russell bastard and his friends.” He began to stand up. “You’re not off the hook, by the way, just so you know…”

They both smiled and laughed. Mike rolled his eyes. “No, I didn’t think it was gonna be that easy.”

Steve stared down at his partner and his smile disappeared. “Thank you,” he said simply with a catch in his throat and he blinked quickly several times.

Suddenly not trusting the steadiness of his voice, Mike quickly brought his left hand to his mouth and pinched his bottom lip. He nodded, swallowing heavily.

The younger man cleared his throat and found his smile again. “Hey, look, ah, it’s a little early, but I’d like to get started on our dinner. I picked up a small pot roast this morning and I want to try my hand at Jeannie’s recipe.”

Mike’s eyes had begun to rise and he dropped his hand to the bed. “Oh ho ho,” he began to chuckle, “that’s an awfully high bar there, buddy boy, you realize that, right?” 

“Oh, I know,” Steve laughed as he crossed to the door, turning to look back. “How are you feeling now?”

Mike’s chuckle turned dry and ironic. “Physically…? Physically I’m feeling a little better, thanks. I needed the rest, I guess.” He shrugged. “Mentally…? Emotionally…?” He shook his head and snorted. “Don’t ask…”

Steve’s return smile was tight-lipped and knowing. “We’re gonna be all right,” he said quietly.

With a smile reaching his eyes, Mike nodded. “You bet we are.” He winked.

# # # # #

The radio was set to KFOG and the stove to 350. A linen dishtowel tucked into his waistband and his sleeves rolled up, Steve had everything he needed set out on the kitchen counter. Helen Stone’s handwritten pot roast recipe, in a plastic page protector, was lying on the table and he was determined to follow it to the letter.

The biggest challenge, he knew, was going to be peeling the vegetables. He’d already looked at the peeler; it was a right-hander. Great, he thought, looking woefully at the increasingly battered and scuffed plaster cast on his right forearm. This was going to take awhile. 

He opened the fridge and checked the crisper. He took out the carrots and onions then pulled the half-filled bag of potatoes from the lower cupboard near the stove. 

With the peeler in his left hand, and awkwardly pulling it towards himself, he finally got the hang of it and the skin began to come away from a potato. Considering it a victory, he smiled to himself.

He thought back over the past few days and about how quickly things can change. What had started with a bank robbery and the murder of a security guard had quickly become an investigation into a trio of high school buddies with muddied pasts and a high-speed chase that had almost ended in tragedy.

And now, with the threat of a career-ending lawsuit hanging over their heads… and Mike’s falling on his sword be damned, he thought almost angrily, the peeler suddenly moving faster, everything had been turned on its head.

It all now rested on the results of Charlie’s examination of the nail file and the scratches inside the Imperial’s trunk. And on the testimonies of both Carole Patterson and Janet Pinelli.

The peeler slowed to a stop; Steve’s eyes, and attention, had drifted away. He would feel more sanguine if they had more, if they could find at least one other young women who had been molested or raped by the despicable trio.

Returning to the task at hand, he made a mental note to give Sergeant Whiting a call, when the roast was finally in the oven, to find out if the Personal Crimes Division had had any luck in locating any more victims. 

For everyone’s sake, he wanted the case against Baker, Russell and Young to be hermitically sealed when they finally took it to court.

# # # # #

Steve pushed the Dutch oven to the edge of the counter near the stove, then opened the oven door and slid the rack out. Taking a deep anticipatory breath and holding it, knowing this was going to hurt, he grabbed the handles of the heavy cast iron pot and tried to lift and slide it into the oven without putting too much strain on his right wrist.

He was moderately successful; he got the pot into the oven with a bang and a groan, and without too much pain. He leaned against the counter and panted for breath then, with a self-satisfied grin, pushed the rack into the oven and shut the door.

He stood back and stared at the mess on the counter and in the sink; it had been folly to take on such a, to him, complicated task one-handed. But now that the roast was safely in the oven, he was more than a little proud of himself.

Wiping his hands on the dishtowel, he pulled it out of his waistband and tossed it on the table. He picked up the glass of Coke sitting on the counter and took a sip, then headed out into the living room and up the stairs.

He pushed the master bedroom door open. The table lamp was off and the room was dark. Frowning, he crossed quickly to the bed. In the dim light from the hallway, he could see Mike’s head on the pillow, the wool blanket once more pulled up to his neck. He froze, listening. 

Mike’s breaths sounded shallow and reedy. Startled, Steve snapped on the table lamp and leaned over the bed. The older man’s eyes were closed, his mouth slightly open, and he was shivering. 

“Mike? Mike?” Steve shook his left shoulder. There was no response. “God damn it,” he mumbled under his breath as he reached for the phone. As he started to dial, he saw Mike’s eyes open.

“What are you doing?” The words were thick and slurred.

Steve’s eyes briefly flashed towards the bed as he continued to dial. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

“No… no, no you don’t have to do that… I’m okay…”

“Like hell you are. You’re going back to the hospital.”

Mike started to push the wool blanket away.

“Don’t move!” Steve ordered.

“No… I told you, I’m okay,” Mike protested feebly as he tried to push himself up onto his left elbow. 

Steve quickly tucked the receiver under his chin and put his hands on the older man’s chest to push him back down. It wasn’t hard, and Mike caught his breath when his head hit the pillow.

With a worried sigh, Steve laid his left palm on his partner’s forehead. It felt burning hot. “You’re going to the hospital,” he said firmly and after a split second of defiance, Mike’s tense body relaxed and he closed his eyes and nodded, continuing to shiver almost uncontrollably.

Relieved, Steve pulled the receiver out from under his ear and started to dial again. 

“No, I don’t need an ambulance,” Mike said as forcefully as he could, his eyes boring into Steve’s face almost pleadingly. “I can get up… Please, Steve, don’t call an ambulance… I don’t want them carrying me out of here… Please…”

Steve’s finger hesitated in the rotary dial and he stared at the familiar blue eyes for a couple of beats before he slammed the receiver back down on the cradle and let the dial click back into place. “All right…” he agreed reluctantly.

With a grateful smile, Mike began to push the blankets away with his left hand. Steve helped him sit up. Several minutes later, now dressed and with the younger man’s assistance, he got to his feet. 

By the time they got down to the sidewalk, with Steve making a brief detour to turn off the oven and grab the keys to the Pinto, Mike’s face was shiny with a fine layer of sweat. Steve had wanted to take Mike’s car, realizing the larger sedan would be easier to get in and out of, but he couldn’t find the keys right away and he wasn’t about to take the time to look for them.

He helped the obviously ill man into the passenger seat and slammed the door. As he got behind the wheel, he shot a worried glance across the front seat. Mike had laid the back of his head against the headrest and closed his eyes, breathing rapidly and shallowly through his mouth. His teeth were faintly chattering.

With a worried frown, Steve slid the key into the ignition and started the engine. Trying to control his own trembling, he shifted into gear and the small car shot away from the curb.


	27. Chapter 27

“What the hell happened? And where the hell have you two been?”

The angry words cut through the tense silence in the hospital waiting room and Steve looked up from his study of the floor tile to see an obviously furious Captain Olsen making his way across the room, every eye in the place following his progress. He braced himself as the older man stopped and stood over him with his hands on his hips.

“I’m, ah, I’m waiting to hear,” Steve said quietly. His eyes slid past Olsen to the waiting room entrance. Healey and Haseejian were standing against the wall, looking in his direction, their expressions speaking volumes.

“So?” Olsen snapped impatiently. “What happened?”

Steve inhaled deeply. “He, ah, he started running a fever, a high one…” He shrugged slightly, looking down.

Olsen slid into the empty chair beside him. “I know you two have been hiding to avoid me… and we’ll talk about that later, believe me. But just where the hell have you been?”

Without raising his head, Steve sighed. “We’ve been at Mike’s.”

“Mike’s?! But I drove by there a couple of times; there were never any lights on. And I phoned a number of…” He stopped; it took only a split second for a smirk to emerge. “I see… of course…” He cleared his throat and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “So, ah, so how are you doing?”

Steve shook his head once, slowly, not making eye contact. “I’m okay.”

Healey and Haseejian, surmising that the initial fireworks were over, approached their colleagues. Steve glanced up and smiled slightly and they nodded back.

“So, ah, have you heard anything yet?” Healey asked gently. Steve had called him just after Mike had been rushed into an examination room.

Steve shook his head. “Dr. Raynis is in with him, I know that. But I haven’t heard anything else.” 

“You said he had a fever?”

“Yeah, and he couldn’t stop shivering –“

“Well, hail, hail, the gang’s all here!” a cheery voice suddenly enveloped them and they all turned to see the smiling young neurosurgeon crossing the waiting room towards them. “Captain… Steve…” he acknowledged with a smile and a nod, then pointed towards the two sergeants. “You two I don’t know…” he chuckled gently, “but no doubt you work with Mike too, am I right?”

Healey and Haseejian introduced themselves with quick handshakes then Raynis turned his full attention to Steve. With a disarming tilt of his head, he said with a grin, “As you can probably guess, you have nothing to worry about. He’s going to be just fine.”

Steve had yet to smile and he still didn’t. “But he was running a fever –?“

“Yes, he is, and a high one. He has an infection at the burr hole site at the back of his skull. It’s a post-op complication that, well, that nobody hopes will develop but some of the time it does. It’s serious, yes, but it’s not critical and it’s completely treatable with antibiotics and we’ve got him on those already. He should start to feel a lot better in about twenty-four hours. And by tomorrow night I have the feeling he’ll be grumbling to go home, but he’s not getting out of here for a few days at least, I’m afraid.”

Steve blew out a relieved breath and hung his head. “Thanks, Doctor Raynis, that’s the best news we could get. He sure scared the hell out of me, that’s for sure.”

Olsen couldn’t resist giving the young inspector a comforting pat on the back. 

“I’ll bet,” the doctor agreed. He glanced quickly at Olsen then cleared his throat slightly. “Ah, Steve, I need to know… did Mike do what I told him when I released him? About, you know, going home and getting a lot of rest?”

Biting his bottom lip, his expression otherwise unreadable, Steve turned slowly to look at Olsen with raised eyebrows. Raynis, frowning, followed the surprising shift of attention.

The subject of the scrutiny shifted uncomfortably, looking down. “Well, ah,” the older man growled, “ah, well, he didn’t exactly go home.”

“He didn’t?” Raynis asked with an innocence that no one believed.

Olsen glanced up to find four pairs of eyes staring at him expectantly. He looked away quickly, focusing somewhere between the doctor and Haseejian. “Well, you see, ah, well, we were having trouble with, ah, with some local reporters who wanted to know… you know, wanted to know all about the car accident and all that…” He cleared his throat. “And they were all over both their houses,” he gestured ineffectually towards Steve, “so we decided to put them somewhere, you know, safe… where no one would think to look for them…”

“Oh?” Raynis asked lightly. “And where would that have been?”

Clearing his throat again, Olsen took a deep breath before replying softly, “A motel in South City.”

There was a pregnant pause then Raynis said quietly. “South San Francisco… There wasn’t anything closer, like say in Daly City or… Colma…?”

Haseejian snickered, turning away quickly and trying to cover with cough. Healey pressed his lips together and looked down, studying his shoes. Steve just stared at the captain with wide, amused eyes, enjoying the moment after so much tension.

“Well, it was the best we could do on such short notice,” Olsen defended his decision, finally looking the bemused doctor in the eyes. He glanced at Steve, the urge to spill the beans on Mike and Steve’s decision to leave the motel and return to the De Haro house on the tip of his tongue. He decided to keep mum.

Shaking his head and chuckling softly, Raynis finally took pity on the veteran cop. “Well, all that aside now, Mike is going to be fine but like I said, we’ll be keeping him here for a few days just to make sure.” He looked at Steve. “I’d let you in to see him but we’re just settling him into a room in the Neuro ward and he’s pretty out of it right now anyway. Why don’t you come back tomorrow and you can spend some time with him?”

Steve looked up gratefully and nodded. He knew Mike was in good hands and he had nothing to worry about. He felt Olsen pat his back again.

“Gentlemen,” Raynis said, taking a step back and including them all in his final words, “I have other patients, most of them much worse than your colleague, believe me, that I must get back to.” With a nod, he turned on his heel and disappeared across the room.

With a relieved exhale, Steve got to his feet. His legs were suddenly and briefly weak and he knew it was from all the adrenaline that had been coursing through his system since he’d discovered Mike in such distress. Olsen caught his arm.

“Listen, ah,” the captain growled almost affectionately, “why don’t you go home to your own place. I think it’s probably safe now.”

“I will,” Steve said with appreciation, “but I have to go back to Mike’s right now anyway. I, ah, I was attempting to recreate one of Jeannie’s famous pot roasts and I’d just put it in the oven when all this happened.”

Olsen’s frown deepened. “You turned the –“

“Yes,” Steve laughed, “yes, Rudy, I turned the oven off. Don’t worry.”

The captain grinned. “Good… good. I don’t think Mike would like it much if you burned his house down while he was in here.”

Chuckling, the four detectives walked across the waiting room and started down the wide corridor towards the Emergency entrance. Steve felt Healey’s hand on his shoulder. They were almost at the double set of glass doors when they heard, “Inspector Keller?”

They all turned to see a distinguished-looking, middle-aged doctor in blue scrubs walking quickly towards them, holding out his right hand. “Doctor Dubrow. You probably don’t remember, but I was the one that put the stitches in your head last week when you were brought here after that car accident. How are you doing?”

His eyes widening in surprise, Steve shook the doctor’s hand. “Doctor Dubrow, um, sorry, no, I really don’t remember…”

“I’m not surprised,” the plastic surgeon chuckled, “you were pretty out of it that night. Can I have a look at my handiwork?”

“Of course,” Steve laughed, tilting his head down and using his left hand to lift the hair that was covering the rapidly healing laceration near his hairline. 

Dubrow took a pair of glasses out of the pocket of his top, slipping them on then leaning forward to take a closer look. “Well, that’s healing very nicely, if I do say so myself.” He straightened up and took the glasses off. “A couple of months, you won’t even know it was ever there.”

Steve chuckled. “Good, that’s exactly what I wanted to hear, thanks.”

Dubrow held his right hand out again. “You take care of yourself, you hear. We don’t want you coming back in here again anytime soon.” Taking a step back, he glanced at the others. “Gentlemen,” he nodded before hustling away.

Haseejian was staring at the inspector with a bemused smile. “Here, let’s see that,” he said with a straight face as he stepped closer to Steve and raised his hand as if to push the wavy brown hair back. Steve swatted his hand away and everybody laughed.

With relieved chuckles, they all started towards the exit again.

# # # # #

Steve opened the oven door then stood back. The dark green Dutch oven was still in the centre of the single rack. He braced himself to reach in and pick it up then changed his mind, glancing at the clock on the back of the stove. With one decisive nod, he closed the door, reached for the oven control knob and spun it to 350. If Mike was up to it tomorrow, he thought, then a plate of pot roast and fixings could be just what he needed.

He looked around the kitchen; it was still a mess. He sighed. He knew he couldn’t do any dishes with his hand still in a cast, but he could clean up as best he could. Eventually he had the peelings in the garbage, the dirty dishes stacked and the counters wiped clean.

He made his way up to the second floor. The mouth-watering aroma of the baking roast had drifted up there as well. He stepped to the door of the master bedroom. Mike’s pajamas were on the floor, the sheets and heavy blanket in a heap on the bed.  
He brought the vanity chair back to Jeannie’s room then stripped the bed. He carried the linens and pajamas to the basement, put them in the washing machine, measured out the powdered Tide and started the load.

Back on the second floor he made the bed with fresh sheets and pillowcases. Finished, he sat on the bed and looked around the room then reached out and slowly ran his left hand across the pillow. With a worried sigh, he got up and headed down to the kitchen.

# # # # #

Visiting hours had begun at nine; he had been there waiting. A nurse told him Mike had spent a quiet night and his temperature was slowly dropping but hadn’t broken yet. Now he was sitting in the hard metal chair beside the bed. 

Over a pale blue gown, a light blanket was pulled up to Mike’s mid-chest; his left arm lay palm-up at his side, an IV-line on the inside of his elbow. Eyes closed, his head was turned to the left, a fresh gauze bandage over the burr hole site. An oxygen cannula circled his head, over his ears and under his nose.

Steve gently slipped his left hand into Mike’s and squeezed lightly. There was no response. He sighed almost sadly, continuing to stare. He could feel tears begin to build and he started to blink quickly.

“Buddy boy…” The voice was low, breathless and gravelly and he wasn’t sure if he’d heard it. Mike’s eyes were still closed. As he started to sit forward slightly, he felt a slight movement in the older man’s fingers. He squeezed a little harder.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he confirmed quietly, “I’m here…” He watched silently as Mike took a few deep, unsteady breaths, his eyes remaining closed. “How are you feeling?”

There was a beat of silence, then a soft, “My head hurts…”

Steve caught his breath and moisture filled his eyes. Nodding, unsure of his voice, he finally managed to get out, “I know…” He tried to control his own ragged breaths, breathing through his mouth.

Mike inhaled wheezily. “Stay with me…?”

Steve’s throat constricted; he couldn’t breathe. He gently squeezed Mike’s hand again and felt the warm fingers close weakly around his own.

“I’m not going anywhere…”


	28. Chapter 28

Throughout the morning, Doctor Raynis, two other neurology residents and several nurses came and went. Steve stayed where he was, holding his partner’s hand while the older man drifted in and out of consciousness.

It was just after noon when, half-asleep himself, he felt his left hand being shaken. He started, sitting up quickly and looking towards the bed. His head still on the pillow but his eyes now open and focused, Mike was staring at him. 

A wave of relief washing over him, Steve began to smile. He could feel the older man’s fingers closing around his hand and he squeezed back. 

“That’s what we’ve been waiting to see,” came a familiar voice from over his shoulder and his head snapped around. 

Doctor Raynis was standing at the open door and he grinned at the young cop as he approached the bed, letting the door close behind him. Gesturing toward Mike with his head, he chuckled, “His fever broke about an hour ago. You were sorta sleeping… so we just decided to wait and see which one of you woke first.” He looked pointedly at the metal chair Steve was sitting in. “I have no idea how you could fall asleep on that thing… more power to you,” he chuckled.

Mike’s eyes had shifted to the doctor and a wispy smile was curling his lips. Raynis leaned over the bed. “How are you feeling, Mike?”

The injured lieutenant blinked slowly and tried to lick his lips. “Weak…” he admitted softly with a tired sigh.

Raynis’ smile got a little wider. “Well, that’s to be expected, and it’s normal. You’re body’s been putting up quite a fight for the past few days, and it just won.” He glanced at the inspector. “Steve, if you could give me some room so I can give your partner here the once over…?”

Steve, whose eyes hadn’t left Mike, looked up at the doctor and smiled. Almost reluctantly he released his best friend’s hand and got up. “Yeah, of course… I’ll, ah, I’ll go wait out in the hall.”

Nodding his thanks, Raynis pushed the chair away, repositioning himself. “This won’t take long.”

As he stepped through the door into the quiet corridor, Steve looked towards the bank of pay phones on the other side of the nurses station. Digging into his left pants pocket, he pulled out a handful of change. Stopping at the station counter, he slapped the coins down and slid out a couple of dimes. Keeping them between the first two fingers of his right hand, he put the rest back in his pocket.

The call was answered on the first ring. “Homicide, Healey.”

“Yeah, Dan, it’s Steve.”

“Is Mike okay?” 

He could hear the tension in his colleague’s voice and answered quickly. “He just woke up. The fever broke about an hour ago. He’s gonna be okay.” He could hear a relieved exhale on the other end of the line. 

“Thank god.”

“Yeah, listen, ah, I’m gonna probably spend the day here but look, I want to find out what’s happening at your end. You gonna be around sometime tonight?”

“Just a sec.” He could hear Healey putting his hand over the mouthpiece of the receiver and the muffled sound of voices. “Yeah, Norm and I are going be here later tonight… things are moving pretty fast, just so you know.”

“Great. Look, ah, I’ll give you a call again a little later. Thanks.”

“You bet.”

He hung up and turned away from the phone just in time to see Raynis exiting Mike’s room and crossing to the nurses station, sliding a metal clipboard closer, flipping it open and taking a pen out of his lab coat pocket. Steve approached the doctor anxiously; Raynis glanced at him with a smile as he made notes. Finished, he closed the clipboard and turned towards the slightly younger man.

“You can relax, everything’s looking good. The fever is gone so now we just have to deal with the infection. But even that’s showing signs of starting to clear up. He’s already doing a lot better and we’ve arranged for the kitchen to bring him some juice and toast… he says he’s starving,” he chuckled. 

Steve exhaled loudly with a smile. “Wow… thanks…” He tried to stifle a yawn. “Sorry… I didn’t get much sleep last night, let me tell you…”

“I’m not surprised,” Raynis said sympathetically. “Look, ah, I’ve asked for one of our orthopedic surgeons to drop by and have a look at Mike’s shoulder. We might be able to get him out of that sling and start some physiotherapy on him; that should make him feel a lot better as well.”

As Steve nodded, Raynis looked down at the cast on his right forearm. “Why don’t we have him take a look at that as well,” he gestured at the cast with his chin. “If it’s healing well, we might be able to get rid of that thing and put a half-cast on. That could give you a lot more mobility. How does that sound?”

“Would it let me drive my stick?”

Raynis’ brow furrowed and he cocked his head. “What do you drive?”

“Porsche 911.”

“You’re kidding, right? What do they pay you cops? I can’t even afford one of those.”

Chuckling, Steve shook his head. “I bought it used… and I think I’ll still be paying it off long after it’s in the junk yard.”

“Porsches never go the junk yard,” Raynis stated with comical solemnity. “Still… wow… But, uh, yeah, you should be able to shift with a half-cast.”

It was Steve’s turn to laugh. “That would be great, thanks.”

“Okay, well, I’ll arrange the orthopedic visit and he can see both of you, okay?”

“Perfect.”

Raynis, slipping the pen back into his pocket, nodded towards the door to Mike’s room. “Why don’t you head back in there and see him? He was asking for you.”

Steve smiled warmly. “Yeah, I’m going to do just that.” He started to turn away then spun back. “Thank you.”

Raynis grinned. “You’re welcome.”

# # # # #

The bed had been slightly elevated and Mike was staring at the door when he pushed it open. “Hey hey, look at you,” Steve chuckled as he crossed to the bed and dropped into the metal chair. “You look a lot letter. How are you feeling?”

Mike snorted, rolling his eyes slightly. “Like crap… but better than yesterday, I can tell you that.” He stared at the younger man affectionately for a couple of seconds then said quietly, “Thanks for, ah, for not listening to me and bringing me here… and for not calling an ambulance.”

Steve grinned and shook his head. “You’re welcome… on both counts.”

Mike smiled, trying to lift his head off the pillow. He was unsuccessful and he chuckled self-consciously. “Well, at least I’m not cold anymore.”

The younger man reached out and patted his arm.

“Hey,” Mike said suddenly, “what happened to that roast you were going to cook yesterday?”

Laughing, Steve nodded. “I did. I went back to your place after they admitted you here and I cooked it.”

Mike’s eyebrows had risen and a look of surprise and joy lit his features. “You did? How did it turn out?”

With a shrug, Steve shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? What do you mean you don’t know? Didn’t you eat it?”

“By the time it finished cooking I was too tired to eat.”

“Oh.” Mike sounded almost disappointed, his gaze drifting away.

“But I made up a couple of plates and I brought them here this morning. The nurses let me put them in the fridge in their lounge.”

The blue eyes shifted back to the younger man’s face and widened slowly as the exact meaning of what Steve had just said sunk in. “You mean…?” he asked hopefully.

“Umh-humh,” Steve nodded, grinning, “and they’ve got a stove in there too. I’ve been told you can eat anything so I’ll warm them up later and we can have pot roast for dinner tonight. How does that sound?”

His throat constricting and suddenly unable to find his voice, Mike just smiled, his eyes bright with grateful tears.

# # # # #

“Hey, that looks a lot better,” Haseejian said with a nod at Steve’s right hand as he carefully set three cups of steaming coffee down on the desk before dropping into one of the guest chairs in Mike’s office. 

“Yeah, it’s a half-cast.” Sitting behind the desk, Steve raised his hand; the full plaster cast had been replaced with what looked like a tensor bandage. With the knuckles of his left hand, he knocked against the bandage at the wrist; it sounded almost like wood. “They molded a plastic cast to my palm and the inside of my forearm, and it’s held in place by a couple of tensor bandages. Works just as well and I can take it off to shower… and it also lets me drive my car again.” He grinned, bobbing his eyebrows.

“Ah, yes, god forbid the Porsche has to remain undriven while you recover,” Healey chuckled as he reached for one of the cups.

With a grin and shake of his head, Steve took a sip of the strong, hot coffee, then tried to stifle a yawn as he put the cup down.

“You look beat. You sure you want to do this now?” Haseejian asked with a concerned frown.

Shaking his head quickly, Steve smiled reassuringly. “I’m okay… just didn’t get much sleep last night, and it’s been a long day. I’ll just need more of this,” he chuckled, picking up the cup and taking another sip.

Healey snorted. “More of this’ll keep you awake till next Tuesday.”

“Very funny,” his partner groused good-naturedly; Steve’s laughing eyes snapped back and forth between them. “So, ah, you want us to bring you up to date on everything we’ve managed to uncover in the past couple a days?”

“If it’s okay with you guys?”

Healey glanced at Haseejian and they both smiled and nodded. “To be honest, we’ve been dying to tell somebody. Rudy was tied up all day in meetings and Roy is up to his eyeballs with Bill on that suspected murder up at the Mark Hopkins –“

“Yeah, I saw that in the paper,” Steve interrupted him. “What’s going on there?”

Haseejian shrugged. “They found a chambermaid dead in a bathtub on the twelfth floor. No signs of foul play. They’re waiting for the results of the autopsy so until then…”

“Weird.” Steve turned his attention back to Healey. “You were saying?”

“Well, things for us are moving along nicely,” the Irish sergeant said with a smile. “We got the preliminary results back from Charlie on the nail file and the paint from the Imperial trunk and, as far as he’s concerned, it’s a match. And he also says the scratches on the trunk are also consistent with coming from something as small and sharp as the nail file.”

“But before he signs off on it,” Haseejian took over, “he’s going to do an experiment. He’s trying to find another Imperial the same year and colour and he’s already got a nail file exactly like the one Janet Pinelli used… and when he gets the car, he’s gonna do what she did and see if the results are the same. He said if he can prove it is, it’ll be like nails in those little bastard’s coffins – his words, not mine,” he finished with a chuckle.

Steve was frowning. “How long does he think it’ll take to find another Imperial like Baker’s?”

Healey glanced at his partner and they both grinned. “Believe it or not, it’s on its way up here from L.A. as we speak.”

“Mike and I are going to owe Charlie a big bottle of scotch when this is over,” Steve laughed, shaking his head. He picked up the coffee and took another sip.

“We all are,” Haseejian agreed. “But that’s not all we’ve got to tell you.”

“Oh?” Steve brow furrowed as he put the cup down and sat back in the wooden chair. “What else you got?”

“You know we asked Sean to see if there had been any more rape reports that could be linked to our little delinquents?”

“Yeah?” The word was filled more with trepidation than confirmation.

“He’s got two for sure… and the possibility of at least another three...”


	29. Chapter 29

The ceiling lights in the bullpen were off; the ones in Mike’s office were still on. 

Healey glanced at his watch, his eyes shooting wide. “Good lord, it’s almost 10. I better get home or I’ll never hear the end of it.” He started to roll his left sleeve down.

Leaning back in the desk chair, Steve stretched with a slight groan. “Sorry, guys, I didn’t mean to keep you here so long but –“

“What the hell are you three doing here?” a gruff voice interrupted him and they all jumped slightly before looking to see Olsen standing in the open doorway.

“Geez, Rudy…” Haseejian whined, his right hand on his chest, “you almost gave us a heart attack. Are we gonna have to bell you or something?” He finished with a chuckle as he got to his feet.

“Oh, sorry,” the captain apologized cavalierly.

Healey was staring at him with a frown. “We’re bringing Steve up to speed.” He nodded vaguely at the young man behind the desk. “What the hell are you doing here at this hour?”

His eyes sliding from Steve, whom he acknowledged with a quick nod, back to Healey, Olsen growled, “Meetings… Oh, and, ah, I saw the lights on in Mike’s office here through the door as I was walking by… thought it might be Roy. Uh,” he looked at Steve, “how’s Mike doing?” He knew it was a moot question; Steve wouldn’t be here if anything was wrong.

“He’s doing good,” Steve acknowledged with a smile. “His fever broke this morning, they took his right arm out of the sling and we had dinner together tonight.”

“Oh,” Olsen muttered, “that’s, ah, that’s great. Well, ah, give him my best when you see him again, okay? Ah, tomorrow?”

Still grinning, Steve nodded. “Yeah, tomorrow.”

The captain turned to leave.

“Rudy,” Healey stopped him. “Anything we should know about, ah, you know…?” He rolled his eyes and jerked a thumb upwards in the universal sign for ‘the brass upstairs’.

Olsen frowned and then brightened. He shook his head. “Nah, nobody knows what you guys are doing yet. But the second you tell me you’ve got it wrapped and tied with a bow, then I have to let them know what’s going on.”

Both sergeants nodded. “You got it,” Haseejian confirmed. 

“How, ah, how close do you think you are?”

After an exchange of looks with his partner, Healey shrugged. “A few days, we’re hoping… a week at the outside.”

“Good, good. The sooner we get this whole mess behind us, the better.” 

As Olsen made his way across the bullpen, mumbling to himself the entire way, Healey and Haseejian looked at Steve, and all three laughed softly.

# # # # #

“So I got a call from Dan this morning. The car arrived just before midnight and Charlie’s started working with it already. “

Mike, wearing a light blue fleece robe over the hospital gown, was lying back against a stack of pillows on the raised bed, staring at Steve with a warm and amused smile. His right arm was no longer in a sling but he was holding it close to his side, his forearm across his stomach. There were dark circles under his eyes; he looked tired but was trying hard not to show it.

“So what’s Charlie gonna do?” Mike asked with a low chuckle. “Crawl inside the trunk and try to get out like the Pinelli girl did?”

Steve started to laugh. “You know, I never thought of that. I can’t wait to find out.” He glanced at his watch. “Listen, ah, I’m gonna go talk to Sean Whiting, see how he’s coming with those other possible victims.” He looked at his partner grimly, raising his eyebrows. “This could end up being a lot bigger than we thought.”

Mike, the smile now gone, nodded. “Yeah. I keep thinking, if that little bastard hadn’t run, and we hadn’t chased him, we probably would never know about the rapes… and all those poor girls.”

“Yeah. I hope that’s the way the brass and the D.A. see it when all this lawsuit, excessive force crap goes to court… if it gets to court.” He held up his left hand and crossed his fingers with a slight chuckle.

Mike cocked his head and laughed gently. “Yeah, well, I’m hoping it doesn’t. But who knows.” 

Steve started to get to his feet.

“Hey, ah, Rudy hasn’t tried to ban you from the building, has he?”

Steve froze momentarily, frowning. He shook his head. “No, why?”

Mike shrugged carefully, mindful of his right shoulder. “No reason, I just thought maybe because of the lawsuits he’d be a little hinky having you hanging around.”

“Well, I think if I was ‘aiding and abetting’ Norm and Dan he’d object but so far all I’ve been doing is listening.” He turned towards the door then looked back, chuckling. “And as far as I know, he still doesn’t know we were sitting in on the Pinelli interview yet.”

Mike rolled his eyes and laughed. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”

Steve pulled the door open and looked back at the bed. “Get some sleep and I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Steve, you don’t have to come back. I know you have things to –“

“We have an ‘it-turned-out-better-than-I-expected pot’ roast to finish, remember?”

The older man frowned.

“I made up a couple more plates and I brought them in, and they’re in the fridge in the nurses lounge. And I’ve already checked with them and they are more than happy to let us use the stove again. So there.” Without waiting for a rebuttal of any kind, he grinned, winked and left the room.

# # # # # 

“Phil and Terry have already talked to two of the girls,” Sergeant Sean Whiting confirmed, leaning back in a wooden swivel chair and opening a manila file folder. He glanced up at his visitor. “Their accounts are so similar, not only to each other but to Patterson and Pinelli, that it’s disturbing. These little bastards really have a pattern.”

Frowning, Steve leaned forward and reached for one of the other files on the desk. He raised his eyebrows. “You mind?”

Whiting looked up. “No, no, of course not. Help yourself.”

Steve picked up the file and opened it. “So have any of them said why they didn’t report their assaults?”

“The Monroe girl.” He hefted the file in his hand. “The others said they were scared of retaliation. She was different. She said she didn’t say anything because she didn’t think she’d be believed.”

“Why would she think that?”

Whiting’s face took on a doleful expression. He flipped the pages in the file back into place. “She’s, ah, she’s not what you’d call a member of the cheerleading squad… or one of the prettier girls in school…” He turned the file around and handed it to Steve.

The Homicide inspector looked at the school portrait photo paperclipped to the inside front cover of the manila folder. It showed a bespectacled, slightly overweight young woman with straight mousy-coloured hair and an insecure smile.

Steve could feel his rage building and fought to keep it under control; it was one of the first things he had learned from Mike, and one of the most valuable. “Those cunning little bastards…” he growled under his breath. He looked up at Whiting. “They knew she wouldn’t say anything. I wonder how many girls like her are out there?”

Whiting raised his eyebrows with a facial shrug. “That’s the real question, isn’t it?”

Steve looked at the report. “She was assaulted a year ago?”

“Yeah. The others – the ones that we know about so far – go back as far as two and a half years and as recently as a month ago.”

“God damn it…”

“I think this is just the tip of the iceberg, Steve. And I know its gonna sound really weird, but if you and Mike hadn’t chased that car as…well, as misguided as it possibly was at the time… if you hadn’t stopped that car, we wouldn’t know anything about this… and as bad as that bank robbery was, and I’m not disrespecting that security guard who lost his life… I think that this,” he pointed to the file in Steve’s hand, “is a much bigger and much more vile act.”

Steve nodded slowly. “I think you’re right.”

“I know I’m right,” Whiting spat out almost bitterly. “I’ve been doing this a long time, Steve, and this has the potential to be one most disgusting cases I’ve been involved with. I’m just sorry you and Mike are being raked over the coals because of what happened.”

With an ironic and somewhat grateful smirk, Steve snorted dryly. “Well, this,” he hefted the file in his hand, “might be the thing that gets us off the hook.”

Whiting smiled. “We can only hope. But you can count on me and the entire Personal Crimes team to do whatever we can to help you guys out, believe me.”

“Thanks, Sean, that means a lot.”

With a confirming nod, Whiting leaned over the desk. “Look, ah, I’ve got some more leads to track down. Why don’t you use my desk here, make yourself at home and go through these files? You might be able to ferret out something we’ve overlooked… you know, fresh eyes?”

“Yeah, that’d be good. Thanks.”

Whiting got up and started towards the door. “Ah, I’d tell you to help yourself to the coffee but you might want to go down to Missing Persons and try theirs; it’s so much better,” he snickered as he grabbed his suit jacket from the rack and left the room laughing.

# # # # #

“Okay, I have to say it again,” Mike chuckled after swallowing, “this roast is really delicious, buddy boy. You really outdid yourself.” He stabbed another piece of beef with his fork, grinning.

With a wide smile, Steve accepted the compliment with a nod. “Thank you again. Of course, it was your wife’s recipe. I just followed it to the letter, literally.”

Continuing to chuckle as he chewed, Mike stared at his partner with bemused awe. “And I still can’t believe you talked the nurses into heating the plates for us.”

Still sitting at Whiting’s desk reading through the files at four o’clock, Steve had called the hospital and sweet-talked one of the nurses into putting the plates of leftovers into the oven for warming. When he had arrived a little over an hour later, everything was ready. Mike had been more than just a little impressed, once more acknowledging the easy and seductive charm his young partner seemingly exuded without any effort whatsoever.

Eventually pushing the rolling table with the now empty plate away, Mike sighed with a heavy inevitability. “So, what did you find out from Personal Crimes?”

Washing down the last of the roast with a mouthful of coffee, Steve put his plate on the floor at his feet and sat back. He inhaled deeply then looked at the older man. He told him about the new cases they had uncovered, and the possibility of more. The longer he talked, the darker his partner’s expression became; when he finished, Mike closed his eyes, exhaling loudly and angrily.

“Sons of bitches,” he muttered under his breath. 

Steve chuckled mirthlessly. “I’ve started calling them the DLB’s – despicable little bastards. It’s shorter.”

Mike chuckled with a brief, dead smile and shook his head once. “So you think they were going after some of the, ah… the plainer girls, knowing they would keep their mouths shut?” he asked, a dispirited tone colouring his words.

Nodding almost sadly, Steve leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs. “Yeah, I do. It’s almost like it was some kind of game for them… like they were making notches on their bedposts, you know…?”

“Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.” Mike raised both hands and rubbed them over his face. “God, Steve, I want to nail those… what did you call them?”

“DLB’s.”

“DLB’s,” Mike nodded, smiling slightly, “I like that, yeah…”

Steve chuckled. “Don’t worry, we will. We don’t just have Norm, Dan and Rudy on our side right now… we have Sean Whiting and the entire Personal Crimes division. And take my word for it, they’re just as angry as we are.”


	30. Chapter 30

“Hello?”

“Steve? Dan. Listen, ah, thought you might want to get your ass down to the Hall. We just got a call from Charlie and he has something for us but – you know him, right? He’s a touch theatrical, and he doesn’t want to tell us anything over the phone.” There was an irritated sigh. “I think he wants to see our faces.”

Steve chuckled. “Did you get the impression he has something for us?”

“You know Charlie… it’s hard to tell. So, what? We’ll meet you there in about a half hour?”

“Yeah, I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

Steve hung up, tossing the bedclothes off. He scrambled to find a pair of clean underwear, trying to remind himself he had to do a laundry if he got home at a decent hour tonight. 

Within ten minutes he had managed a quick shave and was looking halfway decent when he closed and locked his front door and started down the steps to the Porsche at the steep curb. He was just about to put the key in the lock when he heard a car door slam and an urgent voice calling, “Inspector Keller! Inspector Keller!”

He looked up to see a thin middle-aged man wearing a somewhat garish checked sportscoat and a porkpie hat hustling towards him. 

“Inspector Keller, I’m Jack Leist from KBEX and I’d –“

“Not now,” Steve said firmly as he turned the key in the lock and opened the driver’s side door.

“I’d just like to ask you a couple of questions about that accident, Inspector –“

Steve got into the Porsche and slammed the door. If he assumed that would end the interrogation, he was wrong. His face close to the window, Leist continued. “I mean, it wasn’t really an accident, was it, Inspector? You deliberately hit that poor kid’s car, didn’t you?”

Steve turned the engine over and shifted into drive.

“Is that how you broke your arm?! Is your partner still in the hospital?! How do you feel about almost killing him and an innocent boy?!”

Leist’s voice followed him as he swung the low-slung sports car into a tight three-point turn on the dead end street and turned left onto Montgomery.

# # # # #

Healey and Haseejian were waiting outside the lab when Steve came through the door from the stairwell. 

“Sorry I’m late,” he apologized as he strode towards them, his temper finally under control. 

“No rush, no rush,” Haseejian said genially, exchanging a look with his partner. Something was off, he thought. “You okay?”

Pursing his lips, Steve nodded quickly. He seemed to be having a hard time standing still. When Haseejian tilted his head skeptically, he sighed in frustration. “Jack Leist was waiting outside my house.”

“That yellow press hack,” Healey growled angrily.

“What did he want?” Haseejian asked, scowling.

“He was asking about the accident, of course, calling Russell an ‘innocent boy’.” Steve’s left hand was balled into a fist and he was pounding the air in his frustration.

“Yeah, well, he’ll change his tune when the truth finally comes out,” Healey stated firmly. 

Steve tilted his head and sighed. “And that can’t come soon enough…”

“Well,” Haseejian pointed toward the lab door, “let’s see if Charlie tells us what we want to hear.” He pulled the door open and took a step back. “Gentlemen?” He gestured for them to precede him.

“Charlie!” Healey called out as he led the way into the large laboratory, looking for the head technician. 

One of the assistants looked up from the microscope he was using and gestured with his head towards the back of the room. “He’s in his office.”

Healey knocked on the door and opened it at the same time. The large, affable black man looked up from his desk, breaking into a quick and inviting smile. “Good morning, gentlemen,” he greeted them as they piled into his office, the two sergeants dropping into the guest chairs, mumbling a salutation, as Steve closed the door and stood in front of it. “That was one hell of an accident you had there, Steve.” He nodded at the cast. “How are you doing?”

Steve raised his right forearm. “Better every day.”

Charlie’s brow furrowed. “How’s Mike? I heard he’s back in the hospital.”

“Yeah, but he’s doing great. Had a bit of an infection,” he pointed to behind his right ear, “where they had to put the hole in his head –“

“The burr hole.”

“Yeah. It, ah, it set him back but he’s doing okay now.”

“Tell him I asked about him, will ya?”

“Will do. Thanks.”

“So, ah,” Healey began, obviously having a hard time containing his curiosity, “what have you got for us, Charlie?”

The three detectives knew from long experience that they would have to patiently wait for Charlie to get to the results of his report. The head of the SFPD crime lab was justifiably proud of the work the men and women of the department did every day. And he wanted to make sure that the officers and detectives who benefited from those results appreciated this, to him, very important fact.

“I have to admit, having a car identical to the Imperial in every way was a huge asset,” he began with a deep engaging chuckle.

“Yeah, I’ve been wanting to ask about that,” Steve said. “How the hell did you manage to get Rudy, and the guys even further up the food chain, to agree to pay for another Imperial and have it brought here?”

Haseejian began to chuckle and looked up at the younger man. “I think I was responsible for that. When Charlie told us he wished he had an Imperial that wasn’t in an accident so he could compare the scratches in the trunk, it became obvious. I told Rudy that, if we were right, it would end up costing the department, and the city, a hell of a lot less money to buy another Imperial than it would to pay off those lawsuits.” He laughed again. “They liked my logic.”

Steve chuckled, catching Healey’s eye and nodding with a facial shrug, impressed.

“Yeah,” added Charlie. “One of my newbies is a real car nut and I put him to work on it. He bought a copy of the LA Times and went through the want ads… on a hunch, he said. And he found one.”

“Why the Times?” Steve asked, confused.

“It’s a much bigger city. They have more cars down there, more freeways. He said he thought it’d be the place to start, and he was right.” Charlie chuckled. “As a reward, I sent him down there to buy it and drive it back. He hasn’t stopped grinning since.”

They all laughed. Bernie leaned over his desk and opened a file folder that had been sitting on his blotter. Healey and Haseejian leaned forward expectantly. 

“So I guess you guys are anxious to know what conclusion we came to,” the analyst said slowly, enjoying the moment. He opened the top side drawer and took out two plastic evidence bags, dropping them onto the desk. There was a metal nail file in each bag. He pointed to the one on his right. “That’s the one you got from Janet Pinelli. The other one I bought; it’s absolutely identical. So were the cars, down to the condition and the paint job.”

The three detectives nodded, almost biting their lips to keep from blurting out a question and derailing the lab head’s meticulous and unhurried presentation. But Steve couldn’t help himself: Mike’s words were ringing in his ears and his curiosity was getting the better of him. 

“So, ah, what did you do, Charlie? Did you actually crawl into the trunk to duplicate what happened? I mean, you and Janet Pinelli aren’t exactly the same size…” He let the thought hang and could hear Healey and Haseejian stifle chuckles.

Charlie’s warm brown eyes slid with exasperation from the sergeants up to the Homicide inspector and his lips curled into a smile. “You’re absolutely right about that, Steve, it would have put me at a different angle. Besides, as the boss, I don’t have to do that kind of stuff anymore.” His eyes slid back to Healey and Haseejian and he stared at them patiently. 

Both of them stared back in complete innocence. 

“So what did you do?” Steve prompted, trying to end the comical stand-off.

With a chuckle, Charlie grinned, knowing he had won this round, as if the others had a chance. “One of my new assistants is a young girl about Janet Pinelli’s height and weight. She was thrilled to do it. So we told her what Miss Pinelli had said in the interview, locked her in the trunk, and told her to go at it.” He paused, his eyes going from one detective to the other in triumph.

After several long silent seconds, Haseejian leaned forward slightly, raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “And…?” he asked, trying to keep the impatience out of his tone.

Charlie’s friendly face broke into a slow grin and he chuckled deeply. “And there is not one doubt in my mind that Janet Pinelli used that nail file,” he pointed to bag on the right, “to try to open the trunk lid on Graham Baker’s Chrysler Imperial. And I am willing to go to court to testify to that effect.”

# # # # # 

It was close to 10 when Steve stepped from the elevator into the corridor leading to the Neuro unit. The lights had been turned down to their nighttime setting. He knew it was way past visiting hours but he was hoping for two things: that Mike was still awake and that he would be allowed in to see him. He had so much news, all of it positive, that he was almost jumping out of his skin with the need to share it.

One of the nurses that he was beginning to get to know very well looked up from behind the counter as he approached. Her eyebrows rose quickly and she smiled warmly. “You’re here late,” she said quietly.

“I know,” he said, stopping at the counter. “Listen, ah, is there any chance I can –“

“Of course,” she answered but her smile quickly disappeared. “I’m not sure if he’s awake.” She paused and took a deep breath. “We had a very bad day today.”

Steve’s eyes shot wide. “Is he okay?”

“Oh, no no no, Mike’s fine, don’t worry about him. It was another patient. We got Mike up to go for a walk around the floor and one of our younger patients went with him… a young man not much older than you who was recovering from a brain aneurysm.” She paused and her eyes brightened. She took an unsteady breath. “He had a seizure… when he was walking with Mike. He collapsed. They rushed him into surgery but he, um… he didn’t survive…” She brought a hand up to cover her mouth and blinked quickly to stop the tears.

Steve was staring at her unmoving, blood pounding in his ears. He didn’t know what to say.

With a sad smile, she reached out and patted his hand on the counter. “He’s a very sweet man, your partner. He took it very hard. I don’t think he ate any dinner. If he’s still awake, I think he could use you right now.”

Swallowing heavily and nodding, Steve stepped back from the counter and turned in the direction of Mike’s room. He crossed the distance slowly, not knowing what to expect or what he could possibly say. He paused outside the door then slowly pushed it open.

The room was dark except for the dim glow from a small fluorescent blub on the panel above the bed. The bed itself was flat. Steve approached it slowly, not wanting to disturb his partner if he was asleep.

Mike was on his back, his left arm with the IV line at his side, his right forearm in a lightweight sling across his stomach under the flannelette blanket. His head was turned to the left, his eyes closed. Steve could tell from the deep and even breaths that he was asleep.

With a heartsick sigh, Steve lowered himself onto the metal chair and stared at the bed. It was going to be a long night.


	31. Chapter 31

He felt the light, gentle touch on his shoulder and he jerked awake. The fingers tightened slightly and he heard a soft, “Sorry…” He looked up to see the nurse standing behind him, leaning forward with her mouth close to his ear. His eyes snapped to the bed but Mike hadn’t moved.

“Sorry to startle you, but it’s been over an hour and I don’t think he’s going to wake up.” She nodded at the bed. “Why don’t you come with me to the lounge and you can lie on the couch, and I’ll let you know when he wakes up.”

His brow furrowed and he stared at her without moving for a couple of long seconds. “But –“ he began quietly, and she smiled, putting a finger to her lips to silence him.

“ Now I know it’s not protocol, and against the rules, but cops and doctors and nurses have a special bond, don’t we? And I won’t tell if you don’t?” She raised her eyebrows questioningly, her grin getting even wider.

With another quick glance at his partner, Steve nodded with a slight smile and got slowly and a little stiffly to his feet to follow her out into the corridor.

# # # # #

The soft sounds of someone trying very hard to be quiet disturbed his surprisingly deep sleep and he jumped slightly, his cops’ instincts kicking in. In a fraction of a second he was wide awake, every muscle and sense on full alert. He opened his eyes. An older nurse that he’d seen in the unit when Mike was admitted was putting a paper bag into the refrigerator.

She closed the door and turned around, her eyes automatically flicking to the couch. When she saw the open eyes staring back at her, she froze, stifling a surprised gasp. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she whispered quickly, “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Surprised to find himself covered with a heavy woolen blanket, Steve pushed himself up with his left hand, shaking his head and smiling. “No, no, it’s okay. I think it’s about time I got up.” He had noticed the dark sky beginning to lighten through the blinds of the large lounge windows.

She smiled kindly. “Marie told me you were here. Look, I’m just about to start my shift and I have a feeling Mike is going to be waking up soon, if he’s not awake already. Why don’t you avail yourself of our facilities…” she gestured with a chuckle towards the washroom, “and then go see him again?”

Nodding, and with a grateful smile, Steve pushed himself to his feet, supporting his sore ribs with his right hand.

The nurse’s eyes narrowed and she took a step towards him. “Are you okay?”

His lips pressed together, he nodded quickly. “Yeah, yeah,” he assured her. “I busted a few ribs in the accident and they let me know it every once in awhile.” He chuckled carefully. “Especially when I sleep on something a little… unforgiving…” He nodded at the leather couch.

“I can imagine,” she replied with a quiet, sympathetic laugh. “Listen, ah, you take your time and I’ll check on Mike and you join us at the station when you’re ready. There’s no rush.”

Smiling and nodding again, appreciating the concern, he watched as she left the room.

# # # # #

Steve pushed the heavy wooden door open and stepped quietly into the room. The overhead lights were still off and it looked like Mike hadn’t moved all night. He had just settled back into the metal chair when the door opened again. He glanced over his shoulder to see the nurse he had just talked to in the lounge crossing towards him with a cup in one hand.

She smiled as she reached him and held out a mug of steaming coffee. “I thought you could use this,” she whispered, turning the cup in her hands so the handle was towards him. “It’s not too bad, and it’s a wonderful elixir for broken ribs and stiff muscles.”

Chuckling quietly, he took the cup, staring at her with a wide, appreciative grin. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

Her eyes snapped towards the bed. She nodded over his shoulder. “I think he’s starting to wake up.” She looked back at him and smiled sadly. “If you need anything, just let us know, okay?”

“Thank you,” he said quietly. When she had left the room, he turned in the chair to face the bed again. Mike’s head moved and he shifted slightly under the light blanket. Steve took a sip of the surprisingly good coffee and waited.

After a couple of minutes, Mike inhaled deeply and opened his eyes, looking at the ceiling. He lay still for several long seconds then slowly turned his head. He didn’t seem at all surprised to see his partner sitting beside the bed. Neither of them spoke nor smiled at first then Mike took another deep breath. “That smells good,” he said quietly. 

Steve chuckled, glancing at the cup in his hand. “It is good. You want a cup?”

The older man stared at him for a second then nodded. “Sure.”

With a quick wink, Steve got to his feet. “I’ll get you one.” He headed to the door, disappearing out into the corridor.

Mike stared at the ceiling again. He was surprised, but grateful, that he had managed to sleep. But the pall of gloom that had settled over him after the tragic events of the day before still weighed heavily on his heart.

He heard the door open and close and the sound of something heavy being set down on the bedside table. “Let’s get you sitting up, shall we?” he heard Steve ask rhetorically and felt the bed being raised. A coffee cup suddenly appeared in front of him and he took it with his left hand.

Steve nodded towards the sling. “Your shoulder bothering you?”

Mike shook his head. “No, it’s just a precaution while I sleep. I can take it off.”

“Want to?”

He nodded. Steve took the cup again and put it back on the table, then leaned forward and helped slip the sling over Mike’s head. He tossed it on the foot of the bed then handed the older man the cup again. Mike took a sip.

“That is good,” he said softly after he swallowed. 

Steve raised his eyebrows and nodded, smiling. “Maybe we should find out what kind of beans they use,” he suggested with a soft laugh. He watched as Mike’s feeble smile disappeared and his gaze unfocused. “I heard about yesterday,” he offered quietly.

Mike looked at him slowly, closing his eyes briefly as he nodded. “Yeah… “ He stared at the younger man for a long beat then took a deep breath. “He wasn’t much older than you. James.” He smiled wistfully. “Not Jim, mind you… James. He said that’s what his mother called him so he didn’t want anyone to call him Jim. He was a construction worker… He was working on that new… pyramid building that’s going up over on Montgomery.”

“Hunh.” Steve sat on the edge of the bed.

“He told me he was at work last week when all of a sudden he got this blinding headache and he passed out. Woke up here a day later and they’d operated on his brain – an aneurysm. They told him he would make a full recovery and eventually be able to go back to work…” Mike caught his breath and looked up at the ceiling, his eyes suddenly filling with tears. He bit his bottom lip, shaking his head almost in anger. 

Steve put his coffee cup on the bedtable and dropped his hand onto his partner’s leg comfortingly. 

“He did everything right, Steve. He married his high school sweetheart, had two little kids, was working hard to put a roof over their heads and live a good and decent life… and for what? To get cut down just like that before he’s even had a chance to really live…? To never see his kids grow up…?” His voice cracked and he looked away. He felt Steve’s hand tighten on his leg.

“I felt so helpless, standing there… there was nothing I could do to help him. Hell, there wasn’t anything the doctors could do to help him either, I guess… And all I could think about was those little punks who raped all those young girls, and those little bastards are probably going to live to be old men… maybe they’ll do it in prison, if we’re lucky, but they’ll live to be old men and somebody like James doesn’t even get that chance…” He slowly shook his head in frustration, trying to stop the tears from falling. Eventually he looked at his partner with a sad but grateful melancholia and smiled; Steve was the only person in his life before which he could allow himself to be so vulnerable. The thought was both overwhelming and terrifying. He snorted self-consciously and looked away, embarrassed.

Steve smiled back, unable to mask the affection in his eyes, and he patted Mike’s leg again. “At least he wasn’t alone… right?”

Mike stared at him motionlessly for a long second before he smiled and nodded. “Right…”

“We should all be so lucky.”

“Right…” Mike looked down at the bed, his throat tightening and his heart pounding Finally, shaking his head as if to dispel the profound sadness that he felt was consuming him, he looked at the younger man and found a thin but fond smile. He snorted dryly. “Here I am, doing all the talking, and I know you had a big day yesterday. What did you find out?”

His smile widening, Steve straightened slightly, patting Mike’s leg a few more times before he leaned towards the table to pick up his rapidly cooling cup of coffee and taking a sip. He was prolonging the moment, just like he knew Mike would do, and it took only a beat or two for the older man to realize what was going on. He sighed impatiently, but inside he was elated; as always, Steve knew exactly what to do to shake him from a self-imposed atonement.

With a look somewhere between a smile and a smirk, Mike stared at his silent partner and waited. Finally Steve chuckled, giving in. “You know you just talked about the DLB’s growing old in prison? Well, I think we’re well on our way there.”

Mike’s smile disappeared, replaced by a cop’s interest and concentration. “What happened?”

“That nail file Dan and Norm got from Janet Pinelli? Charlie confirmed that it was used to make the scratches in the trunk of the Imperial. So you were right, it was the car.”

Mike’s mouth dropped open slightly. He shook his head once. “No, we can’t be that lucky. You’re kidding me, right?”

Grinning, Steve shook his head. “No, I’m definitely not.”

Mike brought his right hand up to cover his mouth. 

“We got ‘em, Mike. Now, you know as well as I do there’s still a long way to go… but for all intents and purposes, we got ‘em.”

Mike nodded vaguely, staring into the middle distance. “That’s why he ran, the stupid little bastard. He wasn’t running to get away from us… he was running to get us away from the car. If they put Janet Pinelli in the trunk, I bet they put other girls in there as well. And I bet he thought there was something in that car… in that trunk… that would give them away.”

“Umh-humh,” Steve agreed, nodding slowly. “And I bet they didn’t even know about the scratches. I bet they thought it was something else, like fingerprints or hair or who knows what…”

Mike snorted. “You know, we were lucky the fire department got that fire out so quickly or we could’ve lost everything…”

Tilting his head in bewilderment, frowning, Steve chuckled lowly. Raising his eyebrows and his cast, and gesturing vaguely at the hospital bed with his left hand, he asked dryly, “We were lucky?”

With a withering look and long-suffering sigh, Mike rolled his eyes. “All right, point taken. But you know what I mean.”

With a smile and a laugh, Steve nodded. “Yeah, I do. And you’re right.” He stared into the older man’s eyes for a long beat then closed his eyes with a soft chuckle. Everything felt right again. When he opened his eyes, Mike was still staring at him.  
“Listen, ah,” he said self-consciously, looking away, “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. How about I go down to the cafeteria and get us something for breakfast before I have to head back to the office?” His eyes slid slowly towards the bed once again. Mike was still staring at him, a warm smile lighting his face.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Steve got to his feet and started towards the door. “Be right back. Don’t go anywhere.” His chuckle, and his affection, lingered behind long after the door had closed.

Grinning, Mike laid his head back against the pillow and closed his eyes. When the tears eventually began to fall he didn’t know if they were from love or loss.


	32. Chapter 32

“Leist! That son of a bitch…” Mike shook his head with a mirthless laugh. “I gotta give you credit, buddy boy, you showed a lot more… self-control than I would’ve. I’d’ve probably punched him right in the nose.”

Steve laughed. “Yeah, well, that’s why I’m glad he approached me and not you.” He got to his feet. “Listen, ah, I gotta get outa here. I want to swing by my place – Jack Leist or no Jack Leist – and change clothes and then head to the Hall.”

“Okay,” Mike nodded, trying to keep the longing and envy out of his voice. They both knew how frustrated he was being confined to the hospital, unable to participate in his own emancipation. “Keep me in the loop, will you?”

Steve paused halfway to the door and turned back, smiling sympathetically. “You bet. And look, ah, how about I pick us up something good for dinner? Any preference?”

With a grateful smile, Mike shook his head. “No, not really. Surprise me, okay?”

“Sure.” As he opened the door, Mike called his name and he stopped, looking back at the bed. 

“Thanks,” the older man said quietly, his bottom lip trembling slightly, unable to smile.

“Anytime,” Steve answered softly before disappearing through the door.

# # # # #

“Well, at least he wasn’t waiting for me when I went back there this morning,” Steve grumbled as he slipped into the chair beside Healey’s desk. 

“I’m surprised somebody hasn’t beaten him to a pulp and dropped him into the Bay already,” Haseejian growled as he crossed the bullpen with a cup of coffee in hand. 

“Well, he won’t be safe when Mike gets out of the hospital, I’ll tell you that,” Steve chuckled, patting down his tie and crossing his legs. “So, what’s new?”

Smiling, Healey leaned over his desk, picked up a report, turned it and dropped it back onto the desk in front of Steve. “Sean and his people got two more names for us… both willing to go on the record. And they have leads for another four… can you believe that?”

Steve picked up the report with a heavy sigh, glancing up at Healey. “How many does that make now?” 

“Seven that’ll testify, and another five we still have to talk to… and Personal Crimes said they aren’t done yet.”

After quickly scanning the report in his hand, Steve looked up at Haseejian. “So when are you going to take all this to Gerry?”

“We were thinking maybe tomorrow…?” the Armenian sergeant answered, glancing at his partner. 

Healey nodded. “We want to talk to the new two,” he gestured at the report in Steve’s hand, “then put it all together tonight and bring it Gerry first thing in the morning.”

“That sounds great.” Steve tossed the report back onto the desk and leaned forward. “So, what can I do to help?” 

The request was not unexpected and Healey and Haseejian exchanged brief smiles. “Well, you’re still not officially connected to this investigation but you’re not banned from it either, so… why don’t you sit in with us on the interviews, see if you can pick up something that we might miss.”

Steve knew he was being fed a line but let it go; he appreciated their largesse. His hands were, essentially, tied; he had no official capacity in this investigation but he also knew that no one would begrudge his involvement. The entire department, from the top brass on down, were aware that he and Mike were being asked to pay too steep a price for a decision that had to be made in the blink of an eye.

Nodding, Steve smiled. “Okay, yeah, I’d like that. Thanks.”

“Good.” Healey glanced at his watch. “Sean said they’re bringing one of them in now. They’re taking her straight to PC.” He glanced up at his partner. “Shall we?”

Haseejian nodded as put his coffee cup on the desk. Steve and Healey got to their feet.

# # # # #

“So both of the girls we talked to today have almost the same story as the others. But only one of them was put in the trunk of the car and taken to the Park. The other one was assaulted in an apartment on Diamond.”

“Diamond? There’s been no mention of anything happening on Diamond, has there?” Mike asked as he raised a small plastic packet of soy sauce to his mouth and bit a corner off, skillfully managing to keep any of the sauce from spilling out. 

Shaking his head, Steve finished spooning the garlic spare ribs onto his partner’s plate and set the empty carton on the floor. “Bon appétit!” he chuckled. Mike nodded with raised eyebrows as he happily poured the soy sauce onto the small mound of white rice on his plate.

Though both were adept at using chopsticks, their respective injuries were preventing them from doing so at the moment. Eschewing the plastic cutlery that had come with the meal, Steve had once more prevailed upon the patient and amused nursing staff to allow them to use the flatware from their lounge.

Mike raised a forkful of chow mein then paused. “Do you know whose apartment it is?” He put the Chinese food in his mouth, briefly closing his eyes in pleasure. 

Steve smiled at his partner’s reaction. “Ah, no, not yet. That’s something I hope they’ll have for tomorrow. But,” he was mixing the food on this plate, allowing the chicken fried rice to soak up the thick sweet sauce from the spare ribs, “tomorrow should be exciting. Dan and Norm are taking what we have to Gerry first thing in the morning. Not to get indictments, mind you, but just to see if we have enough so far to start making noises about getting the lawsuits dismissed.” He was staring at his plate, his grin widening.

Mike stopped chewing. “You’re kidding, right?” he asked skeptically. 

Shaking his head, Steve looked up, still smiling. “Dan has been talking to some of the guys with the PBA, guys who know about this kinda stuff, and he’s pretty convinced that we can get the lawsuits tossed because, well, frankly… Russell and his lawyer are going to have bigger things on their plate if we can nail him and his friends with all these rapes. And he thinks we’ll have leverage on our side.”

“How does he figure that?”

Steve picked up a garlic spare rib and started to gnaw on it. “Well,” he said quietly, holding the bone in front of his face and dropping his eyes, “at least two of the girls they’ve interviewed so far… are underage.”

Mike’s left hand, with a forkful of rice, stopped halfway to his mouth; he lowered it slowly back to the plate and sighed heavily. “I had a feeling some of them would be.”

“Yeah…”

“But expectation doesn’t make the reality any easier though, does it?” He closed his eyes. “God damn it…” he breathed. 

“But they’re safe now, Mike. We can get them professional help and hopefully, once this is all over and they’ve succeeded in putting the DLB’s in prison, they can get on with their lives… and we will have done something to help them do that…”

Mike sighed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right, but there’s still a long way to go before we get there, right?”

Steve snorted dryly as he dropped the spare rib to the plate, licked his fingers and picked up the fork. “You can say that again.” He chuckled. “But as you always say, nothing comes easy.”

“I say that?”

‘Umh-humh.”

“Oh… okay…” With a tiny shrug, Mike’s attention returned to his meal. After several silent seconds, his fork now filled with chop suey, he said quietly, “I don’t remember ever saying that –“

“All right!” Steve laughed, raising both hands in the air in surrender. “Maybe you didn’t say it, I don’t know. I was just making conversation.”

Mike was chuckling softly, watching his partner trying to back-pedal so quickly. He put the forkful of chop suey into his mouth, chewing behind a wide smile. As hard as it was to admit, despite the seriousness of their earlier conversation, he was enjoying himself more than he had in a long time. If he couldn’t be on the streets, doing what he loved most, then a close second was spending time with this remarkable young man.

But there were still serious matters they needed to discuss. Swallowing, he asked casually, “These, ah, new girls, the ones you interviewed today… Are they, ah, are they the cheerleader type or the –?“

Steve shook his head quickly. 

With an angry sigh, Mike stopped eating again and seemed to sag back against the pillows. “I think I hate them even more, if that was possible. I mean, seriously, what is their deal? Were they doing it just to put notches on a bedpost… or just to humiliate those girls? Was it some kind of game?”

With a shrug, Steve shook his head again. “I don’t know… but hopefully that’s one of the things we’ll find out when we finally get their asses into an interrogation room.”

“How’s that coming along, by the way? The search for Baker and Young.”

Steve shrugged. “Last I heard, they’re still looking for them but doing it under the radar ‘cause we don’t want to tip our hand. There isn’t an APB out, just a BOLO and a low-priority one at that. They’re trying to keep a lid on it till we get the go-ahead from the D.A.’s office. Which,” he smiled, a forkful of chicken fried rice in midair, “will happen sooner than later, we all hope.”

“Yeah, we sure do,” Mike agreed, using his knife to push the remaining grains of rice onto his fork. “So how much do you think they’re gonna let you do?”

“Me? Humh, good question. Right now they’re letting me sit in on the interviews but when it comes to the arrests, I don’t know. It’s not really our department, is it?”

“No, I guess it isn’t,” Mike agreed softly, his head down, continuing to clean his plate. 

Steve watched him silently for a few seconds, barely able to contain a smile. He knew how much the older man was pining to get out of the hospital and back to work. “So, ah, so have you heard anything about when they’re gonna let you out of here?”

Mike’s head came up and he smiled slightly. “Well, Raynis said if everything still looks good tomorrow morning, they might let me out the day after.”

“That’s great. So you’re doing good?”

“So it seems. The infection’s almost gone, he said, and I can manage the rest at home…” He cleared his throat. “Ah, that might be why he’s reluctant to let me out…” He stared at the younger man guiltily. “I don’t think he believed me when I told him I promised to stay at home and leave the rest of the investigation to… everyone else…”

“Gee,” Steve began facetiously, “I wonder why he didn’t believe you…?” He finished with a smirk and was rewarded with a derisive sigh and a heavy-lidded glare. Clearing his throat, he gestured towards Mike’s plate. “This is really good, isn’t it?” When the older man didn’t move, he began to chuckle, avoiding eye contact. Eventually he heard another heavy and pointed sigh. 

“Just keep pushing the envelope, young fella, just keep pushing…” Mike said softly and slowly, barely contained humour in his words. 

Steve’s chuckles grew into a full-throated laugh. He missed having Mike by his side. He gestured towards his partner’s plate. “You, ah… I think you need some more.” He reached down and picked the carton of chicken fried rice off the floor and began to spoon some out onto the almost empty plate.

“Hey, I don’t need it all,” Mike protested, “keep some for yourself.”

“There’s plenty of everything.” The carton empty, he dropped it on the floor and picked up the spare ribs. “Don’t forget, the sooner you get out of here, the sooner we can both get back to work… and life’ll get back to normal. Right?”

Mike, watching his plate fill up again with the delicious food, looked at his young partner and smiled. He still couldn’t believe he had been so lucky.

“So… eat up.” Finished emptying the remaining cartons, Steve picked up his can of Coke. “Cheers!” he toasted, holding the can up in a salute. 

His smile growing wider, Mike lifted his can of ginger ale. “Cheers!”


	33. Chapter 33

Steve sat back with a sigh and looked at his watch again. He ran his left hand over his face and through his hair, stretched his back and neck muscles, then looked back down at the report on his desk.

He heard a soft chuckle to his right and glanced up to see Roy Devitt, in shirtsleeves and his tie undone, crossing slowly towards him from Mike’s office. Since the hunt for more victims of the DLB’s had kicked into high gear, the lieutenant had moved into Mike’s office to be nearer the action. He dropped into the guest chair.

“I know how frustrating it is to be stuck behind a desk, but they should be back soon,” the gray-haired older man said with an understanding smile. “And hopefully with good news.”

Steve had leaned back in the swivel chair and turned in Devitt’s direction. “Yeah, I know.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “I don’t know which is more tiring, sitting behind the wheel of a car all day going to thirty different locations or sitting behind a desk all day…?”

Devitt laughed. “Oh, I think it’s definitely harder to sit behind a desk all day… sometimes time seems to flow like those melting clocks in that Dali painting.”

Steve chortled with an impressed smirk, surprised the lieutenant was that culturally well-informed. His reaction wasn’t lost on the older man.

“What? You don’t think I know about Dali?” There was humour in his tone.

“No no,” the young inspector laughed gently, raising his hands, “not at all. You just reminded me of Mike; sometimes he comes out with things I would never think he knew, and he keeps reminding me that just because he’s older than I am, it doesn’t mean he stopped paying attention to the world around him.”

“Smart man, that partner of yours,” Devitt chuckled. “Listen, ah, I was talking to Rudy and he agrees… if Dan and Norm come back with a thumbs up, and we get to move on those warrants, if you promise to remain in the background and let Dan and Norm take the lead, then you can ride along on the arrests. How does that sound?”

Steve’s eyes had widened during the lieutenant’s spiel; he nodded gratefully. “That’d be great, thanks.” He knew he should still be tied to the desk, not only because of the cast and the still sore ribs but also because of the potential conflict of interest, in perception if not in fact. But both the captain and the lieutenant had realized it probably wouldn’t be just, or maybe even possible, to keep the gifted young inspector out of the denouement.

“But,” Devitt pointed a forefinger at him, “you’ll just be a spectator, you will not be there to settle the score. Are we a hundred percent clear on this?”

“Absolutely,” Steve said firmly with a sharp nod. 

With his own confirming nod, Devitt slapped the desk as he got to his feet. “Okay, then. Well, let’s just hope Dan and Norm get back here sooner than later… I hate this waiting!” he growled as he strode back to Mike’s office.

Watching him go, Steve chuckled, the smile disappearing when he realized how much he was missing his partner. He reached into the pocket of his jacket on the back of the chair and pulled out a piece of paper. Unfolding it and holding it open on the desk with his fingertips of his right hand, he tucked the receiver under his chin and dialed.

He was halfway through the number when the outer door slammed open and Healey and Haseejian barreled their way into the bullpen, their eyes quickly finding Steve and hurrying to his desk. Steve hung up and started to get to his feet. Devitt was suddenly at his side. “Well?” the lieutenant prompted impatiently, although they could all tell from the wide grins that the news was good.

Healey glanced at Haseejian and his grin got almost impossibly wider. “Gerry not only gave us warrants for all three residents, when we nail them down, but he’s putting together the paperwork to get the lawsuits thrown out, get you,” he pointed to Steve,” and Mike cleared, and he is going to be the prosecuting attorney at their indictments and the trials… if it comes to that.” He looked at Devitt with raised eyebrows. “He’s really pissed.”

“Wow,” the lieutenant said softly, trying to process so much information, “so, ah, I guess what I have to do is put three teams together right now, am I right?”

“I think that’s how it works,” Haseejian chuckled, “but I also think we outa bring Sean into this, don’t you? I mean, this is their case after all… right?”

Devitt looked momentarily confused, his eyes snapping from one sergeant to the other then he smiled, “Oh yeah, you’re right… I’ll, ah, I’ll give him a call…” With a vague shake of his head, he turned around and headed back into Mike’s office.

Healey looked at Steve and grinned. Steve smiled back. “Great work, you guys.”

“Hey, we wouldn’t be here right now if you and Mike hadn’t followed that Imperial,” Haseejian said with a shrug.

“And those little bastards would still be out there… doing what they were doing and getting away with it,” Healey continued. 

Taking a deep breath, Steve looked down at his desk. He nodded, and they heard him say quietly, “I wish Mike was here.”

“Yeah, okay,” Devitt said loudly and slammed the receiver down on the black desk phone. He hurried out of the office towards them after grabbing his jacket from the coat rack just inside the door. “Okay, fellas, let’s head down to Personal Crimes. They’re waiting for us.” 

Steve picked up his jacket from the back of the chair and shrugged it on as he followed Healey and Haseejian out the door. He felt a hand drop onto his shoulder and turned his head to see Devitt a half step behind, smiling at him. He swallowed heavily; it felt great to be back on the team again.

# # # # #

“Okay,” Sean Whiting said to the assembled detectives, the four from Homicide and six of his own, “the D.A.’s office has given us the go ahead to start making arrests. And that’s all fine and good but as of right now, we only have an address for Russell. Baker and Young are still in the wind. So what I’m suggesting is…” he turned to Devitt, technically his superior but acquiescing his authority on this one, who nodded, “my guys will continue trying to locate Baker and Young and I’ll leave Russell up to you Homicide guys.” His eyes locked on Steve’s for a split second and he smiled knowingly.

Haseejian chuckled. “That sounds great to me,” he answered for his colleagues, who were all nodding.

“I thought you’d like that,” Whiting snickered, shaking his head. “Just, ah, bring him in in one piece, okay?”

“We’ll try,” Healey deadpanned and everyone in the room laughed.

“Okay, guys, let’s get to work.” As he own men started back to their desks, Whiting turned to the Homicide detectives. “So we have three more girls we’re gonna interview today and see if they’re willing to join the others. It’d be great if they did, but I think we have enough… ammunition right now to lock them up for a long time.”

Healey nodded. “Yeah, that’s what Gerry said. He was very impressed with everything we’ve managed to pull together already and he’s looking forward to what else we can uncover. And he is furious, I can tell you that.”

“Well, he has two girls of his own, I can only imagine what he’s thinking.” Whiting turned to the others and shrugged. “I have boys… three of them. I’ll be talking to them about all this at some point, I’m sure of that.”

They all nodded soberly.

“But, ah, listen, when you guys bring Russell in, we better have his lawyer here. We want to make sure everything’s above board, right?”

“Campbell?” Steve asked, frowning. “Good. I’m looking forward to having a stare-down with him, the shyster.” 

“Well,” Devitt offered quietly, “he is a billboard-advertising, ambulance-chasing pettifogger - to use a term that I love but is no longer in use, unfortunately,” he paused when the others chuckled, “but he has scruples, believe it or not. I think when he finds out Russell is under arrest for rape and statutory rape, he’ll have second thoughts.”

“You think so?” Healey asked skeptically.

Devitt nodded solemnly. “I’ve had a number of run-ins with him over the years. I’m not a fan of the quality of his clients, and he is mostly in it for the money, but he does have a conscience once in awhile.”

“But what about that lawsuit he won against the city and that bus driver for running over the drunk?” Haseejian asked with an impatient snort.

“Hey, I didn’t say he was perfect. But mark my words, I think Russell’ll be looking for a new lawyer before the day is out.”

“I could live with that,” Steve said with a brisk nod, and the others chuckled dryly.

# # # # #

The three Homicide detectives were standing around Mike’s desk; Devitt was in the chair. “Okay, so you guys have the address and you’re taking a unit with you, right?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Haseejian simpered and every eye turned sharply in his direction. Healey and Steve started to chuckle; Devitt looked irritated for a split second then broke into a grin and sighed heavily. Choosing to ignore the interruption, he turned his attention to the young inspector.

“You,” he continued, pointing a forefinger, “you are to stay out of the action, do you hear me? I don’t want you coming back with something else broken or bruised. Mike’d kill me. So I want you to promise me you will just be an observer, do I have your word?”

With a grin and raised eyebrows, Steve nodded. “Scout’s honor.”

Devitt looked at him without blinking for a couple of seconds then shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right…” He looked at the others. “Okay, fellas, good luck.” 

Healey and Haseejian turned to leave the office. Steve was about to follow when Devitt stopped him. He looked back at the desk. 

“You, ah, you might need this,” Devitt said quietly, opening the top drawer, taking out a .38 Special and placing it gently on the desk. 

Steve’s hooded stare went from the revolver to Devitt’s face. “What are you doing with my gun?”

“Rudy had it and he gave it to me. They gave it to him at the hospital. He has Mike’s too. He, ah, he thought you might need it when you, ah… when you help Dan and Norm nail that little creep.”

Steve smiled slowly, shaking his head; ‘that little creep’ sounded exactly like something Olsen would say. He picked the gun up and clipped it to the back of his belt, under his jacket. “Thanks, Roy.”

Devitt nodded. “You be careful out there, you hear me. And that gun stays where it is, right?”

“Right,” Steve agreed as he turned away. “Besides,” he said over his shoulder, trying to suppress a laugh, “I’m a pretty lousy shot with my left hand.”

Devitt chuckled as he watched the young man catch up to the sergeants across the bullpen and exit into the corridor. And he hoped the nagging worry in the back of his mind was just an overactive imagination.


	34. Chapter 34

The dark green Galaxie was pulled to the curb and the engine turned off. The black-and-white slipped into an open space across the street; two uniformed officers got out and crossed to the unmarked sedan as the three Homicide detectives piled out. All five gathered on the sidewalk.

“Okay, that’s it down there – 357.” Healey pointed to a light green clapboard single family home with a small front porch and detached garage. “We don’t know who’s home but we’re hoping our suspect is in the building.” He showed a photo of Alfred Russell to the two uniformed officers. “Now we want this to go down quietly. We have two more suspects to apprehend, we don’t know where they are, and we don’t want word of this getting out and having them split town.”

Everyone nodded. 

Healey pointed at one of the patrolmen. “Solomon, you come with me. We’ll take the back. Jenkins, you stay with Sergeant Haseejian and knock on the front door.” All three nodded. Healey looked at Steve. “You are going to stay out of it, right?”

Steve raised his hands in mock surrender and chuckled. “You have my word.”

The five officers started down the sidewalk towards the house. When they got to the address next door, Healey and Solomon started up the driveway towards the back of the house. Steve followed, stopping at the back corner so he could see both the sidewalk and the rear door. When Healey and Solomon were in position, he nodded to Haseejian, who nodded back, leading Jenkins towards the front entrance.

Even from where he was standing, Steve could hear the Homicide sergeant pounding on the front door. There was a lengthy silence. Steve kept his eyes on Healey and Solomon at the back door. Eventually it was opened and both officers stepped into the house; the door closed. 

Steve remained where he was for several seconds then decided to return to the car. Everything seemed to be under control. He was taking a last look towards the back door when he heard the sound of a window being opened and turned in that direction. 

At the side of the house, halfway back down the driveway, the blue-jeaned and sneaker-clad lower half of a pair of legs were sticking out of a small window. Someone was obviously trying to escape. As whoever-it-was continued to struggle to get themselves through the tiny space, Steve approached slowly and quietly.

Finally free of the window, the slightly built, white t-shirt wearing young man dropped to the ground with a final grunt, gasping in pain as he turned an ankle when his feet hit the uneven asphalt of the driveway. Straightening up, he began to limp towards the sidewalk. 

“Hey there,” Steve said loudly and the young man froze, turning slowly to face him, eyes wide with fear and surprise.

After a split second of terrified indecision, the young man’s right fist shot out towards Steve’s face. But the skilled detective’s reflexes were sharper and he was better trained. He raised his right forearm to shield his face and the young man’s hand connected solidly with the cast. 

With a cry of pain, the failed escapee took a step backward, dropping his hand and shaking it vigorously as if he could throw off the unexpected and almost incapacitating agony.

With a wry smile, Steve took a step forward and grabbed the white t-shirt at the back of the neck, twisting it roughly so it bunched up around the younger man’s throat. The potential suspect straightened, his undamaged hand grasping at the collar that was now biting into his neck.

Steve leaned forward so they were almost nose to nose. His smile disappeared and his green eyes blazed with anger. “What were you trying to do, Calvin? Were you trying to run from the police?”

If possible, Young’s eyes got even wider; his fingers stopped clawing at the t-shirt and his body sagged slightly. With a mirthless snort, Steve released his grip on the back of the shirt and spun the now completely stunned man around, slamming him face first into the side of the house.

“Calvin Young, you’re under arrest for rape, statutory rape, kidnapping and forcible confinement. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you…”

# # # # #

“It was Young?” Mike’s incredulity was hard to miss and his partner chuckled.

“Yeah, the stupid idiot. He thought he could just crawl out the window and get away. And he might’ve if I hadn’t been there.” His jacket off and sleeves rolled up, Steve was leaning back in his chair, his feet up on the desk and the receiver tucked against his shoulder under his right ear. There was a pile of sunflower seeds on his desk and he was working his way through them, dropping the shells into a wastepaper basket that he had pulled close to the chair.

“So what’s he saying, or has he clammed up?”

“Well, we haven’t been able to talk to him yet. He’s still at the hospital getting his hand x-rayed. Norm’s with him. If there’s any justice in this world, it’ll be broken.”

“Good,” Mike chuckled. “So you’ve got two of them in custody?”

“Yeah. Russell gave up without a struggle. We’re still waiting for his mouthpiece to get here.”

“Good.”

“You know, Devitt was saying he thinks Campbell’s going to bail on Russell once he finds out this is no longer about an ‘innocent boy’ getting roughed up by the cops but now a criminal investigation into rape and kidnapping.”

He could hear Mike’s snort over the line. “Well, as despicable as some of Campbell’s clients are, he’s not one for representing the truly disgusting. He goes for the low-hanging fruit, you know, the frivolous lawsuit that’s easier to just settle instead of taking it all the way through to a court appearance. He’s made a good living for himself doing that. So yeah, I think Devitt could be right, he might bail. I would if I were him.”

“Hunh,” Steve snorted, cracking another shell.

“So are you guys going to do the interviews tonight?”

“We’re gonna start. Well, they are gonna start. I’m just an interested spectator.”

“Yeah, right… So any word about Baker’s whereabouts?”

“Nothing yet. The guys from PC are working some leads so hopefully we’ll hear something soon.”

“Any sign of Leist and his cronies?”

It was Steve’s turn to snort. “No, and to be perfectly honest, that has me worried. I haven’t seen him since yesterday morning at my place. I mean, everybody knows he has a police scanner so we maintained radio silence today when we went to Russell’s and as far as I know, nobody knows about the arrests but us. And we’re hoping it stays that way. At least until we have Baker in custody.”

“Yeah, that’s all you’d need, Baker getting word and booking out of town.”

“Yeah, that’s the little bastard I really want to get my hands on.”

“Well, you just make sure you let Dan and Norm take the lead, right? You’re not a hundred percent yet and I don’t want you… you know…” 

Steve could hear his partner struggle to find the words. “I know, I know,” he said softly. “You don’t have to worry about me, I’m not gonna do something stupid, okay?”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Mike managed to chuckle then cleared his throat.

“Say, ah, any news about when they’re letting you out?”

“Oh, ah, yeah, tomorrow morning.”

“Great. Good. I’ll pick you up.”

“No no no, don’t bother. I’m just gonna go home…” he paused and chuckled. “I promised Dr. Raynis and I’m gonna keep this one. So I’ll just catch a cab, it’s not far.”

“No, Mike, really –“

“Steve, I want you to concentrate on this case, okay? We want to nail all those… DLB’s, right? And I want at least one of us to be there when that happens. And it can’t be me so it’s gotta be you. Are you good with that?”

Inhaling deeply, knowing how much Mike wanted to be in on the action, Steve started to nod, regretfully aware his partner couldn’t see him. “Yeah… yeah, I’m good with that…” he responded softly.

“Good. That’s what I wanted to hear. Listen, uh, they’re coming with our dinners… I ordered the lasagna, so keep your fingers crossed for me, will ya?” he laughed and Steve joined him. “And, ah, if you can get free for dinner tomorrow, come by my place and I can either whip something up for us or we can order a pizza. How does that sound?”

Steve smiled affectionately. “I’d like that, yeah. Count on me.”

“Okay, great. Well, ah, have a good night and I’ll, ah, I’ll see you sometime tomorrow evening, okay?”

“You got it. Take care.”

“You too.” There was a click on the other end of the line and it went dead. Steve took the receiver out from under his chin, staring at it for several long seconds before dropping it back on the cradle. His gaze drifted towards the inner office; Devitt was leaning over the desk, reading a file and making notes. His eyes focused on the black letters stenciled on the glass panel in the door and he sighed wistfully.

# # # # #

Devitt was leaning back in the swivel chair, his fingers laced behind his head. Haseejian and Healey were in the two guest chairs, cradling coffee cups. Steve was leaning against the filing cabinet beside the window, a cup in his left hand. Nobody had said a word for a couple of long minutes.

Haseejian dragged his gaze from the floor and, leaning back in the chair slightly, looked across the bullpen to the glass-walled interrogation room. Alfred Russell and his parents were huddled with their attorney and had been for nearly a half-hour. 

“I’m surprised it’s taking Campbell this long to cut ties,” Devitt chuckled and the others looked at him. He raised his eyebrows. 

“You still think he’s going to bail?” Healey asked. He took of sip of his coffee, making a face and slamming the cup down on the desk when his lips made contact with the now cold liquid. He looked at the others and shrugged in apology; they all laughed.

Continuing to chuckle and shaking his head, Devitt nodded, his hands still behind his head. “I do. Anybody want to put money on it?” He stared challengingly at the two sergeants, eyebrows raised questioningly.

“Hah!” Haseejian scoffed. “I’ll take some that action. Five?”

Grinning, Devitt leaned forward, lowering his arms. He thrust his right hand in the Armenian sergeant’s direction. “Five it is.” They shook, the lieutenant’s eyes sliding to Healey. “Dan?”

“Not me,” Healey chuckled, shaking his head. “I gave up making stupid bets years ago.” He glared at his partner with a smirk. 

Devitt looked over his shoulder. “Steve?”

The inspector laughed. “Me neither. I still have a Porsche to pay off, remember?”

“Cowards…” Haseejian hissed with a low chuckle as he took his wallet out of his pocket, pulled out a five-dollar bill and tossed it on the desk.

“You know,” Healey said, watching the action, “if Roy is right, that means we’re not going to be able to talk to Russell until tomorrow morning at the earliest. It’ll take at least that long for them to find another lawyer.”

“Yeah, and Young hasn’t lawyered up yet either. This could turn out to be a fairly early night, all things considered,” Steve added.

No sooner were the words out of his mouth when the interrogation room door opened and the portly Campbell, briefcase in hand, exited the room, closing the door behind him. The four Homicide detectives intercepted him halfway across the bullpen.

Campbell flustered, looking down. “I, ah, I just informed the Russells that I would no longer be representing their son,” he said flatly. 

Devitt suppressed a smile. “Oh,” he said, keeping his tone neutral, “and why is that?”

“You know me, lieutenant,” the attorney looked at the cop sheepishly, “I don’t represent rapists… I got daughters…” He shrugged. “My heart wouldn’t be in it, and it wouldn’t be fair to my client…”

“What about the lawsuits?” Steve asked, his eyes boring into the uncomfortable lawyer.

Campbell met his eyes evenly. “I’ll, ah, I’ll be talking to the D.A. about that. But as far as I’m concerned, consider them gone.”

Steve smiled slightly and nodded. “Good.”

He saw Devitt steal a glance at him, swallowing his own smile. 

“Listen, ah,” Campbell said a little louder than necessary, “I, ah, I gotta get out of here. Ah, good luck, you guys.” With a final nod to them all, he continued across the bullpen to the door.

Devitt looked at the others, inhaled deeply and crossed to the interrogation room. As he opened the door and entered, the three remaining detectives wandered back to their desks and prepared to go home. There was nothing more they could do that night, and Steve wanted to call Mike with the good news.


	35. Chapter 35

It was the second ring that woke him. Groaning, he fought his way out from under the sheet and blanket and, his eyes remaining closed, groped for the phone. It wasn’t where it usually was – the bedside table – and he flopped over onto his belly so his left hand could reach the floor. 

The phone continued to ring. His fingers finally touched the smooth surface of the receiver and he picked it up, bobbling it slightly before managing to get it to his ear.

“Yeah?” he mumbled.

“Good morning!” came the bright salutation and he frowned. 

“Mike…?” he growled, trying to focus, rubbing his eyes with the fingers of his right hand in an attempt to wake up faster.

“No,” came the deep chuckle, “it’s Dan. Geez, you must have been in a deep sleep.”

Shaking his head, Steve pushed himself up onto his right elbow and looked at the clock/radio: 9:12. Sunlight was seeping around the drawn curtains. 

“Yeah, I was. Sorry… guess I needed the sleep.”

“Yeah, anyway,” Healey continued, all business, “just thought you’d want to know that Russell found a new lawyer – don’t know who it is yet – and they’re gonna be here at 11. And Roy got word that Young has one as well but we’re not sure when that’s going to happen. Should be later today we’re thinking.”

“Okay, that’s good…” Steve was slowly processing the news; he sat up, the phone tucked under his chin. “Okay then, I’ll, ah, I’ll get in as soon as I can.”

“Take your time. Like I said, we can’t start to interview Russell till at least 11.”

“Got it. Thanks, Dan.”

They both hung up. He sat quietly on the edge of the bed for several long seconds, shook his head vigorously to clear the fog from his brain, then got up and padded to the bathroom.

An hour later, shaved, showered and dressed, he stepped out onto the small porch and into the sunny, crisp morning air. As he turned the key in the lock, he glanced up and down the short dead-end street, looking for the unwelcome lurking presence of Jack Leist or one of his cronies.

He frowned as he jogged down the steps towards the Porsche parked at the curb. He wasn’t sure if he should be happy that Leist and his cohorts were nowhere to be found or not. If they weren’t laying in wait for him, then where were they? Surely Leist wouldn’t have given up on such a potentially explosive story as an excessive force and reckless endangerment charge against one of The City’s most respected and storied Homicide lieutenants? And if Leist wasn’t here, where was he? Had he somehow found out about the Baker and Young and the rapes? 

His frown deepened as he got behind the wheel, slipped his dark glasses on and pulled the away from the curb.

# # # # #

“We’re going to miss you, Mike, but we don’t want to see you back here, okay?” 

Nurse Baxter held the heavy wooden door open as the lieutenant pushed himself up off the bed. As he smiled at her, he patted his pants pockets and chuckled. “Glad I remembered to keep some money in my pocket or I’d be passing the hat to pay the cab,” he chuckled as he walked past her into the corridor and she fell into step beside him.

She beamed up at him. “Now you be careful with that shoulder and keep all your physio appointments, all right?”

“I promise.” He raised his right hand as if taking an oath.

They stopped at the counter. “Here’s your paperwork, Mike,” another nurse smiled, pushing several sheets towards him, “all signed and ready to go. And, ah,” her smile wavered as she held out a piece of folded paper, “and this is the information you asked for.”

Mike met her eyes wistfully, took the paper and unfolded it, glancing at it quickly. “Thank you,” he said softly as he folded the paper and put it in his windbreaker pocket.

Both nurses looked at him warmly. His lips pressed together, he smiled back and nodded. With a heavy sigh, he winked at them and turned away from the counter, eyeing the wheelchair with distain. With a quiet laugh, Nurse Baxter touched his arm gently. “Nobody likes this part,” she chuckled softly. “But I’m going to do the honors this time.” She gestured at the chair and he sat with a resigned sigh.

With a chuckle, Baxter started to push the chair. Mike waved halfheartedly towards the staff around the nurses station as they started slowly down the corridor towards the elevators.

# # # # #

“Okay, so, this is how it’s going to go down.” 

Devitt was standing with Whiting in the middle of the Personal Crimes bullpen; the PC detectives as well as Steve, Healey and Haseejian were standing or sitting in a circle around them.

“As we all know, this is not a homicide case, and it’s been with Sean’s blessing that we’ve been allowed to participate,” the lieutenant nodded gratefully at Whiting, who nodded back. “But,” Devitt continued with a chuckle, “it was one of ours who first thought that the car was a critical piece of evidence in this investigation and, by god, he turned out to be right.” 

Everyone, including Whiting, laughed and almost all eyes glanced in Steve’s direction. He grinned. “I’ll make sure Mike gets the memo.”

“Anyway,” Whiting took over when the laughter died down, “Roy and I have… come to an agreement, you could say…” He looked at Devitt, who nodded. “We are going to take the lead on the interrogations as its our specialty… no disrespect intended…” He looked at the homicide detectives with raised eyebrows and they all nodded in acquiescence. “… just like if we’d uncovered a murder in the course of an investigation of ours, then you guys would take the lead.”

“Makes sense,” Healey conceded, glancing at his partner, who nodded in agreement.

“But we’re not leaving you guys out, that’s for sure,” Whiting continued quickly. “We’re going to pair you up, if that’s okay?” The homicide detectives frowned. “Dan, you and Mark,” he pointed at Sergeant Mark Stearns, who nodded, “will interrogate Russell. Norm, you and Pete,” another nod from Sergeant Peter DeMonte, “ will tackle Young… and Steve – don’t worry, we’re not leaving you out,” he chuckled, “when we finally get our hands on Baker, you and Larry’ll take the lead on him.”

Steve looked at the large, dark-haired and bearded Sergeant Franklin and nodded with a grin. He and Franklin had briefly worked together in Vice and he knew the sergeant fairly well. If he couldn’t work with Mike at the moment, Franklin was a pretty good proxy.

“The rest of us,” Whiting continued, “will continue our search for Baker. We think we’re getting closer but who knows, hunh?” He shrugged in frustration. “So, Dan, Mark,” he nodded towards them, “Norm, Pete,” another nod, “you guys are free to start your interrogations anytime you’re ready and the lawyers think they’ve got a handle on things. And the rest of us will get back to work.”

As the other PC detectives wandered back to their desks and their respective tasks, the small band of officers singled out gathered around Devitt and Whiting.

“So who did they finally get to represent them?” Haseejian asked with a grumble.

“Who else? PDs. Two I haven’t seen or heard about yet so they must be new. But, honest to god, who else could they get? Nobody legit would touch them with a ten-foot pole.”

Haseejian looked at his partner and chuckled evilly. “This is gonna be fun.” 

Everyone within earshot snorted. Experienced cops could always run roughshod over an inexperienced public defender and still stay within the law. For some, like Haseejian, it was one of the perks of the job, and they enjoyed the gamesmanship.

“So, gents,” Whiting announced, “Russell and his attorney are in the interrogation room up in Homicide, and Young and co are down the hall. So anytime you’re ready…”

Everybody started to move in different directions. Devitt, Healey, Stearns and Steve headed out into the hallway towards the elevators. The lieutenant fell into step beside the inspector. “So did you talk to Mike this morning?”

“No, ah, they were letting him out so he should be home by now. I’ll give him a call when I get back upstairs.”

Devitt chuckled. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised to see him sitting at his desk when we get up there.”

Steve laughed, nodding, then his brow furrowed. He suddenly hoped Devitt’s waggish prediction wasn’t on the money.

# # # # # 

Mike picked up the phone on the first ring. “It’s gotta be you,” he said with a chuckle.

“Whatever happened to ‘Hello’?” Steve asked with a snicker, pleased to hear his partner’s voice and the laugh that followed. “I see you got home all right?”

“Oh yeah, not a problem. They let me out just before ten and I was home here soon after that. So, ah, what’s happening? And are you going to be able to swing by here for dinner tonight?’

“Ah, that’s what I’m calling about. I don’t think so. Things are starting to pick up here right now, and I’m gonna have to stay close.”

He told Mike about the public defenders and how the interrogations of Russell and Young were underway with Healey and Haseejian teaming up with detectives from Personal Crimes. And how he had been tapped by Devitt and Whiting to conduct the interview of Graham Baker, when he was apprehended, with PC detective Franklin. Mike approved of the plan, grateful that his men were being allowed to do the follow up, considering all the work they had already put into the investigation.

“Anyway, they’re hoping to get something out one or the other of them today that’ll lead us to wherever Baker is, and I’ve been cleared to be in on the arrest, so I want to stay close ‘cause it could break any second.”

“Sure, I understand,” Mike said quietly, not so much disappointed that Steve wouldn’t be joining him for dinner but more concerned about his safety. The younger man picked up on the vibe even over the phone. 

“Don’t worry,” he said quickly, “I’ve promised not to get involved, I’m just along for the ride so I know what goes down when we start to question him, that’s all.”

“You’re sure?”

“Like I told you before, scout’s honor.” He chuckled, raising two fingers. “I’ll be careful, don’t worry,” he added quietly, knowing his partner needed to hear the words.

“Okay…”

“Listen, ah, have you got something to eat in the house?”

“Oh, yeah, don’t worry. Jeannie left some of her homemade spaghetti sauce in the freezer and I can thaw it out. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be okay.”

“Okay, good. Look, ah, I’ll let you go. I’ll try to give you a call later if something breaks here, okay?”

“Yeah, that sounds good. Good luck.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Steve hung up, looking once more at the cradled receiver. He shook his head sadly, frustrated that he couldn’t do more than just keep his partner informed.

# # # # #

Mike finished putting the dishes away then ran the wet dishcloth over the counters. Satisfied the kitchen was now pristine, he turned off the light and trudged up the stairs to his bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed for several seconds before he looked at the clock/radio. 7:42. He wondered what was going on at the Hall. Balling his right fist, he pounded gently on his thigh, trying to control his mounting frustration.

He got up slowly and crossed to the closet, sliding the door open. He pushed aside the blue and grey work suits, finding the garment bag and lifting it off the rack. He laid it on the bed and unzipped it, taking out the black suit and holding it up to give it the once over. With a nod, pleased that it looked clean and freshly pressed, he placed it over the back of the chair and hung the garment bag back on the rack.

He picked up a pair of his black shoes and gave them a good look, then put them near the door. They would need a good polishing, he thought. He crossed back to the closet and rifled through his tie rack for the solid black one and placed it on top of the suit.

He sat on the bed again, opening the top drawer in the bedside table and taking out a small black book. He opened it to a marked page, picked up the phone and dialed. When he heard the first ring, he closed the little book and put it back in the drawer. He crawled up onto the bed and leaned against the headboard, drawing his knees up and placing the phone on the bedspread beside him.

“Jeannie?! Hi, sweetheart!... Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m sorry, but Steve and I have been really busy lately… Yeah, a lot of cases, sweetheart. You know how it gets here once in awhile…. Yeah, it does feel like a crime wave sometimes, you’re right…. Say, ah, I had some of your spaghetti sauce tonight. I love it. You’re gonna have to make me some more… Yeah. So, what have you been up to?... Really?...”

Father and daughter talked for over an hour.


	36. Chapter 36

Steve returned to his desk with a fresh cup of coffee, putting it down as he sat and flattened his tie into place. His sleeves rolled up and collar button undone, he glanced at his watch before leaning over the report once again, rubbing the back of his neck with his left hand. The sun had gone down and all the lights in the bullpen were on.

He glanced up at the inner office; the lights were out. Devitt had gone home but was staying on call. He chuckled to himself; if Mike were back at work, he would definitely still be here.

It had been a long, slow day. Both teams had broken for dinner a couple of hours earlier; pizzas and soft drinks had been brought in for everyone. And now they were all back at it. 

Neither Russell nor Young, it seemed, were saying much and their lawyers were demanding to see all the evidence against them. It was a slow process as the lawyers were starting literally from scratch. They had a lot to catch up on and were constantly asking for time to study the evidence presented.

The detectives conducting the interviews had not gotten to the point yet where they were willing to offer one of them a deal to have them flip on the other. And neither was saying anything about Graham Baker – not even acknowledging that they knew him, let alone that he was an accomplice, even though Russell had been caught fleeing in Baker’s grandmother’s car.

Steve used his left hand against the side of his chin to crack his neck in both directions, hoping to relieve some of the stiffness. He thought of calling Mike again but reconsidered; his partner might have called it an early night after spending the last few in the hospital.

The interrogation room door opened and Healey came out with his empty coffee cup in his hand. The only concession he had made to the long day, it seemed, was a loosened tie and open collar. He grimaced at his colleague as he crossed to the coffee pot, shaking his head in frustration.

“Dead ends?”

“More like a twenty-foot wall,” Healey growled as he poured the steaming fresh java into his cup. “We can’t even get him to admit he knows Baker, the clever little bastard. I don’t know… maybe they took a blood oath not to rat on each other…” He looked at Steve with a chuckle then hesitated. The younger man was staring into space as if frozen. “What?”

Suddenly animated, Steve snapped the fingers of his left hand several times then his eyebrows shot up. “Of course!” he hissed to himself, shaking his head almost angrily. “God, I must be more tired than I thought, I forgot all about it. When Mike and I were interviewing kids from Baker’s high school, one of them gave us a photo of Baker and his buddies at a block party a few months ago. We brought it to Gangs to see if they could identify any of them and Yarrow gave us Russell’s name. That’s how we ended up at that house where the Imperial was.” He shrugged. “I lost track of the photo but I bet it’s still down in Gangs.” He picked up the phone. “I’ll see if anybody’s down there.” He dialed three numbers and waited for a response.

With an encouraging nod, Healey started back towards the interrogation room. “Let me know if you find it.”

Luckily a Gangs inspector was staying late finishing reports. Steve headed down, found Jack Dowd’s home phone number and gave the lieutenant a call, apologizing for disturbing his evening. Within seconds, Steve had the photo in hand and was heading back up to Homicide.

He knocked on the interrogation room door and Healey stepped out, smiling gratefully when Steve slipped him the print. The inspector returned to his desk as Healey shut the door slowly, staring at the photo with exaggerated interest as he dropped back into the chair on the near side of the metal table, showing the picture to Stearns before placing it carefully on the table and sliding it towards Russell.

From his desk, Steve watched the interplay through the glass; even from a distance he could see the younger man pale, blinking quickly and licking his lips. Steve smiled to himself then went back to reading the report.

It wasn’t too much later that the interrogation room door opened quickly and Healey charged into the bullpen, pulling the door closed behind him with a loud bang and hurrying towards Steve’s desk. “Get Sean on the phone – tell him we’re coming down. We may have a lead on Baker.”

The inspector picked up the receiver and dialed three numbers. As he quickly informed the PC sergeant they were on their way, Healey went to his own desk and called Devitt at home. Everyone knew they had to move and move fast.

Within five minutes, Healey had met up with Whiting and Steve had tracked down Franklin, who was in Records. “Now, according to Russell,” Healey told them, trying to contain his enthusiasm, “Baker spends a lot of time in a loft over on Natoma near 6th… it’s essentially a flophouse. A bunch of old hippies squat there, from what he says, and Baker likes to hang with them, I guess. Russell says he doesn’t know why.”

“The drugs?” Franklin suggested with a shrug, not expecting an answer. He didn’t get one but he did get some nods.

“Whatever it is, we don’t know how many people are going to be in the building so we have one of two options: we go in tonight with a small army and hope we catch them by surprise… or we stake the place out all night and all day tomorrow and see it we can catch Baker coming or going…” Healey raised his eyebrows. “Opinions?”

The detectives glanced at each other before Steve piped up; he was the lowest in rank but in essence had the most skin in the game. The others would give his opinion the gravitas it deserved. “Well, I would like to get him before he has the chance to run. If he finds out we have Russell and Young in custody, he’s gonna split.”

“I agree,” Healey nodded, looking at Whiting. 

“Me too,” Franklin echoed.

Pursing his lips together, Whiting looked down, his hands on his hips. Giving one firm nod, he raised his head. “Yeah, me too. Okay, Larry, get on the horn to dispatch and have two units meet us on 6th near Mission in about an hour, and I want them to keep a low profile and stay in their cars. Dan, you get back upstairs with Russell, but make sure you bring Roy up to speed when he gets here. And I am going to call the D.A.’s office – Gerry said there would be an ADA standing by all night.” He turned to the youngest member of the team. “Steve, I know you and Judge Miglin have a good relationship. Gerry said he warned the judge he might get a late night phone call about all this so I want you to give him a shout and tell him we’ll be over as soon as we can with the warrant. Everybody got all that?”

With nods all around, Healey turned on his heel and disappeared while Franklin went to his desk and picked up the phone. Whiting turned to Steve. “We’re finally getting somewhere.”

“Yes, sir,” the young inspector smiled, doing up his collar button. For some reason, he wanted to look professional even though he was only going to be talking to the judge on the phone. It was a habit Mike had, and though he had found it quirky and endearing at first, it was something he soon found himself doing as well.

# # # # #

Warrant in hand, Whiting, Franklin and Steve met in the parking garage under the Hall just after midnight. Whiting handed Steve the keys. He knew they would be making a stop at the judge’s residence for his signature before continuing on to 6th. The flophouse was actually within walking distance of the Hall, but the judge lived in the Sea Cliff area. Walking was definitely out of the question.

 

 

“All right, you’ll do the driving but when we get there, you’re going to stay in the car this time, am I clear?” He was waving an admonishing finger close to the younger man’s grinning face. “You got lucky the last time… and I don’t want to be the one that has to make that phone call to Mike, you hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

Chuckling to himself and shaking his head, Whiting turned and circled to the passenger side of the dark blue Galaxie. Steve watched him go with a chuckle and a smile, the sergeant’s words and actions reminding him so very much of his partner. He was still laughing when he slid in behind the wheel.

# # # # #

It was almost 1 a.m. before the unmarked police car slipped into an empty space on 6th, a block north of the two black-and-whites already on the scene. The actual trip to and from Sea Cliff had been relatively swift, but Miglin had insisted on reading the entire warrant before he signed it.

As Steve swung the car to the curb, he glanced into the rearview mirror. A couple of blocks behind, the headlights of a large car disappeared as it pulled to the curb as well. “We’ll be right back,” Whiting said with a chuckle as he and Franklin got out of the car and started down the block towards the marked cars. 

Steve watched as the two PC detectives were joined on the sidewalk by the four uniformed officers and they all continued up the street and around the corner. He reached down and laid the fingers of his right hand on the walkie-talkie beside him on the seat. Whiting would radio when they had Baker in custody and he would drive around to their location to pick them up.

He glanced at the driver’s side mirror. Someone was coming up the sidewalk in his direction. He slid down behind the steering wheel as far as he could go. As the walker got closer to the Galaxie, Steve leaned over on the seat so he wouldn’t be seen. He heard the footfalls as the person reached the car and continued down the street, and though he didn’t know for sure, he had a feeling that there had been at least a cursory glance towards the car as the stranger passed by.

As the steps faded away, he sat up. The newcomer, dressed all in black he could see now, had broken into a jog. Suddenly alarmed, Steve opened the door as quietly as possible and got out. He pushed it to, not wanting to close it and call attention to himself. He stood stockstill beside the car until the stranger turned the same corner as the others had just seconds earlier.

The hair standing up on the back of his neck, Steve began to run as silently as he could in the same direction. There was now no doubt in his mind that the man in black was following his colleagues. He flattened himself against the wall and peered slowly and carefully around the corner. He knew the small apartment building in question was four up on the same side; he couldn’t see his colleagues, but the man in black was standing on the sidewalk staring up at the second floor of the same building. He had something in his right hand, which was down beside his leg, but Steve was too far away to tell what it was.

He looked around, trying to find a way to get close enough to get the drop. The street was lined on both sides with parked cars. Breaking from his cover behind the building, he sprinted quietly across the sidewalk to the rear of the car at the corner and out into the street, crouching. Duck walking, he made his way down the street towards the man in black, who was still on the sidewalk staring at the building. 

Finally opposite his quarry, Steve reached across his body with his right hand to pull the .38 out of the holster then stopped, silently cursing himself. He dropped his right hand to the pavement to steady himself as he unholstered the revolver with his left hand, shaking his head sharply in frustration.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, he got to his feet and sprinted up onto the sidewalk, directly behind the man in black. Raising the gun and holding it with both hands, he pressed it against the back of the taller man’s neck.

“Don’t move,” he hissed.


	37. Chapter 37

The tall stranger stiffened and gasped, raising his hands slightly, when he felt the cold steel pressing against the back of his neck and heard the whispered command not to move. 

Taking his right hand off the .38, Steve did a quick patdown, slightly hampered by the cast but good enough to satisfy himself that the man wasn’t concealing. Finished, and now convinced he had the man’s full attention and cooperation, Steve took a step back. “On your knees and put your hands behind your head,” he growled sotto voce.

Moving slowly and carefully and without a word, the stranger lowered himself to the sidewalk, putting whatever was in his right hand down onto the concrete with a small clink before interlocking his fingers behind his head.

His gun still pointed at the interloper’s head, Steve slowly circled the now kneeling man, glancing quickly to the sidewalk at his side. A black and silver 35mm camera was lying on its back, streetlight glinting off the uncovered lens.

The dark-haired stranger was watching the cop with what looked like barely-concealed amusement. “As you can see, Officer –“

“Detective,” Steve corrected automatically. 

“Detective,” the man continued after a telling hesitation, “I’m not armed and I’m not a threat.”

“Who are you?” Steve’s eyes flicked towards the apartment building behind him, straining to hear if anything untoward was going on. He also wanted to get himself and whoever this was off the sidewalk as soon as possible so they weren’t seen, if it wasn’t too late already.

The kneeling man snorted and dropped his head slightly. “My wallet’s in my inside pocket.” He made no move to take it out or provide his name.

After a brief stand-off, and suppressing a snort, Steve raised his right hand and glared at it pointedly. The stranger looked at the cast and, swallowing a smile and a chuckle, said with a smirk, “That’s okay, I’ll get it out.” He started to lower his hands then froze, looking at the cop with raised eyebrows. “May I?”

Receiving a glower and a nod, he reached into his inside jacket pocket, took out a fairly thick black wallet stuffed with what looked like receipts, opened it and held it out for the cop to see.

On one side was a driver’s license with a photo and on the other, a press pass. Steve closed his eyes and sighed, then leaned in a get a better look at the name on the license. “All right, Michael Mitchell, get up,” he growled, lowering the .38 and transferring it to the fingers of his right hand so he could put it back into the holster on his left hip.

With a low chuckle, Mitchell put the wallet back in his pocket before picking up the camera and getting to his feet. “So, ah, so can I go?” he asked calmly and quietly, gesturing down the street with his free hand.

Steve’s brow furrowed. “No,” he stated emphatically and perhaps a little louder than he wished. He glanced guiltily over his shoulder at the apartment building.

The tone remained unruffled. “You have no right to detain me, you know -?” 

“I know that,” Steve interrupted quickly. “But I want to know how you found out about this and what it is you actually know.”

Chuckling quietly and with a surprisingly amiable tone, Mitchell shook his head, “You know I don’t have to –“

“I know you don’t have to,” Steve interrupted again with another furtive glance over his shoulder. He wanted to get them both off the sidewalk as fast as possible. “Look, I’ll make you a deal: come back to my car with me, and we’ll… talk. And if I get an answer from you that I like, I’ll make sure you get the exclusive to what’s really going down here tonight.”

Mitchell, who had continued to look at him with charmed disbelief, pulled his head back slightly and frowned. “What do you mean, ‘what’s really going down here tonight’?” 

“Look, I don’t have time to explain it right now,” Steve said quickly with another look at the apartment. “If you don’t come with me this second, I swear I’ll arrest you for impeding a police investigation. Do you get my drift?”

“All right, all right,” Mitchell conceded genially as Steve grabbed his elbow, spun him around and began to lead him back towards the way they had just come. 

“So what… news outlet… do you work for?” Steve tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice when they had turned the corner and were out of eyeshot of the apartment building.

With a low chuckle, Mitchell glanced at him sideways and grinned. “You always this pleasant and accommodating with the fourth estate?”

Steve couldn’t suppress an acerbic laugh. “Yeah, the fourth estate… don’t hold yourself in such high esteem. It’s guys like you and Jack Leist that give real journalists a bad name.”

“Jack Leist?!” Mitchell sounded appalled and affronted. “Dear god, please don’t lump me in with that muckraker… He even gives hacks a bad name.” When he heard the sharp, begrudging chuckle from the young cop, he grinned again.

They had reached the car and Steve opened the back door. Mitchell looked at him, slipped the camera around his neck then reached into his right side pocket and pulled out a pack of Marlboros and a lighter. He held them towards Steve, who met his eyes evenly then nodded and slammed the door closed. With a quick smile, Mitchell tapped a cigarette out of the pack and offered it to the cop, who took it without a word and put it in his mouth. Mitchell did the same then lit them both before putting the pack and lighter back in his pocket.

Mitchell inhaled deeply then blew the smoke out in a steady stream. “Believe it or not… Detective…?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Inspector Keller, Homicide,” Steve stated flatly, leaning against the car and taking a drag.

Mitchell raised his eyebrows with a facial shrug. “Homicide…? Humh… Ah, anyway, Inspector Keller, I actually work for the Chronicle. Freelance. I used to be on staff but there have been cutbacks lately and a lot of us found ourselves out on the street. Welcome to the ‘70’s, right?” he said dryly with a shrug.

“So how did you end up following us here tonight?” Steve asked, flicking the ash from his cigarette onto the sidewalk. When Mitchell eyed him questioningly, he smiled and shrugged. “I saw your car.”

Mitchell growled. “I gotta start getting better at that,” he chuckled with a smile. “A bunch of us freelancers hang around the Utah…” He raised his eyebrows and Steve nodded; he’d heard of the Hotel Utah Saloon but had never been there. “Leist is there a lot, of course. And once he gets a couple a drinks in him, his mouth gets a little, ah… lubricated, I guess you could say, and he sometimes lets things slip. He’s still a sharp cookie, don’t get me wrong, but if you know just the right questions to ask him at just the right time, well… let’s just say he let slip about Alfred Russell and his not so pristine background.”

How the hell did Leist know about that? Steve thought to himself, frowning. Mitchell picked up on the look. 

“Hey, I have no idea how he found out what he knew, I just heard that all was not what it seemed.”

“Did anyone else know about this?”

Mitchell shook his head with a shrug. “I don’t think so but I’m not sure. Anyway, through sources I am not about to disclose,” he stared at the cop with raised eyebrows and Steve bobbled his head in reluctant compliance, “I, ah, found out about the arrests of Russell and his buddy Young today and… on a hunch, I guess you could call it… figured out that maybe those weren’t the end of the arrests.

“And I knew you were somehow involved,” he grinned calculatingly and Steve realized that Mitchell had known who he was all along, “because of the accident and the lawsuits and all that… so I just hung around the Hall tonight and followed you when you left… And here we are!” Mitchell finished with a flourish, arms outstretched.

Steve knew he wasn’t being told everything, that Mitchell’s explanation had huge holes. “That doesn’t account for –“

The walkie-talkie on the front seat crackled. “Steve!”

He reached in through the driver’s window and picked it up. “Yeah?”

“Got him.”

“Okay, I’ll be right there.” He looked at Mitchell, who had dug out his wallet and was taking a business card from the billfold. 

Handing Steve the card, he winked. “Give me a call when you have the chance.” Snapping the wallet closed, he turned abruptly and started down the street in the direction of his car. He started to whistle.

“Mitchell!” Steve yelled after him.

The reporter looked over his shoulder with a grin. “Call me Mike!” he yelled with a laugh.

“Never!” Steve roared, frustrated that his questions wouldn’t be answered and that he had no legitimate reason to detain Mitchell any longer. As the writer disappeared into the dark night, still whistling, Steve tossed the cigarette into the gutter and got into the car, growling to himself.

# # # # #

“Listen, Baker’s not going to get a PD in here until late morning at the earliest and he or she will want to go over the charges and all that before they’ll let us talk to him so why don’t you guys take the morning and go home and get some sleep. I’ll give you a call and let you know when we can get Baker for questioning.”

By the time they had arrived back at the Hall with a submissive Baker cuffed between the two PC cops in the back of the Galaxie and finished the booking and paperwork, the sun was beginning to come up. And no one was able to stifle their yawns anymore.

“What about you, Sarge?” Franklin asked with a smile.

“Ah, the privileges of rank,” Whiting chuckled, “but don’t worry about me, I perfected sleeping in my chair years ago. I’ll catch some winks at some point and then when you guys come back in, I’m outa here!”

Steve stretched and got to his feet. “That sounds like a plan to me. Thanks. I want to get Mike caught up too; he’ll be really happy to hear we finally got Baker off the streets.” With a satisfied grin, he turned to Franklin. “Larry, can I drop you anywhere?”

# # # # #

The room was bright with the sunshine streaming in around the curtains by the time he opened his eyes and looked at the clock/radio: 11:12. He blew out a breath in frustration; he’d hoped to sleep longer but would take what he could. He pulled the phone onto the bed and dialed a number he had long since committed to memory. After almost ten rings, he dropped the receiver back down onto the cradle and frowned. Where the hell was Mike?

He got up and padded into the bathroom in his pajama bottoms, then threw on a robe and went downstairs. He filled the percolator and plugged it in then went to the front door for the morning paper.

Finding it hard to concentrate, his eyes just skipped over the headlines. He worked his way quickly through the entire paper and was just about to toss it aside when he had a thought. He opened it again, quickly finding what he was looking for, and his eyes scanned the page. 

With a grim but affectionate smile, he sat back and shook his head. Then he bolted to his feet and raced upstairs. Twenty minutes later, showered, shaved and dressed, he was in the Porsche, heading south and out of town.


	38. Chapter 38

The Porsche moved slowly through the majestic gray stone arch and continued along the curving paved road stretching out before it. He could see cars lining both sides of the road up ahead on the left and knew he had found the right place. 

Pulling the sports car to the shoulder, he got out and closed the door softly. Pocketing the keys, he glanced up at the bright sunshine and adjusted his dark glasses. A small crowd of people were standing together just beyond the trees up ahead and he started unhurriedly across the thick well-groomed grass towards them.

Getting closer, he scanned the group, most of them with their backs to him, looking for a familiar face or a silhouette. It didn’t take long to find. 

Steve stopped beside a tall gravestone to wait.

A young blond woman wearing a black dress, gloves and veil stood and stepped forward from a row of folding chairs, dropping a single red rose into an open grave. Others followed. People, most of them arm in arm and a lot of them quietly weeping, began to disperse; Steve could see an older couple hovering nearby, the woman with a baby in her arms, the man holding the hand of a tiny girl.

As he watched, the young woman, obviously now a widow, approached a man who had been standing at the back of the crowd alone.

# # # # #

Her eyes were red from crying and her smile was unsteady but she approached Mike with confidence, lifting her veil before extending her right hand. “You must be Mr. Stone,” she said sweetly.

He nodded, taking her hand gently.

Her smile got a little wider. “The nurses told me about you, about how you were with James when he…” She bit her bottom lip and he tightened his grip slightly.

“Yes, I was,” he said softly, his eyes brightening as he smiled at her warmly. “I’m only sorry I didn’t get spend more time with him. He seemed to be a very special young man.”

“Oh, he was,” she chuckled slightly, shaking her head and grinning. “Did he tell you we were high school sweethearts?”

Mike nodded. “Yes, he did. He told me all about you and your two little ones.” He swallowed heavily. “He loved you all very much.”

She caught her breath, inhaling through her mouth, bringing her free hand up to cover her face. She nodded, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. When she found her voice again, she squeezed his hand. “The nurses told me they could hear James laughing just before…” Her voice faltered and she looked down, collected herself then met his warm and friendly eyes again. “He had the most infectious laugh.” She chuckled at the memory. “But he hadn’t laughed much in the last little while because of… well, because of the aneurysm and everything… he was scared… But you made him laugh. I will always remember that, Mr. Stone, and I can’t begin to thank you enough…”

Mike, his own eyes brimming, began to shake his head. “You don’t need to thank me… I just wish I’d gotten to know him better… and that things had turned out a lot differently…”

She smiled at him affectionately. “So do I… so do I…” She glanced over her shoulder at her parents and children then turned back to Mike, squeezing his hand once more before letting it go. “Thank you, Mr. Stone, thank you for being with James when he really needed a friend… “

She leaned towards him and, on tiptoe, kissed his cheek then turned away and joined the rest of her family. Struggling to contain his own emotions, Mike looked down and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, then felt a light touch on his arm. He opened his eyes and looked to his right. Steve was staring at him with a soft smile and he caught his breath in surprise.

“What are you doing here?”

Steve tilted his head with a slight facial shrug. “I thought you could use the company.”

“How did you find me? I didn’t tell anybody where I was going.”

“I’m your partner, remember? When I couldn’t get you on the phone, I thought about all the places you’d be and none of them made any sense. And then I remembered.” He looked towards the open grave and raised his eyebrows.

Mike shook his head with an ironic smile. “I should have guessed.”

“Listen, ah, how did you get here? Did you drive yourself?”

“Yeah. I was gonna take a cab but it’s a hell of a long way and it would’ve cost me a fortune. But don’t worry, I took my time and I was careful.”

“How are you feeling?

“I’m fine, don’t worry. Hey, listen, how did it go last night?”

Steve grinned. “We got him. But I’ll explain all that back home.” He nodded over his shoulder. “My car’s back there. Look, ah, why don’t I follow you home and we can grab some lunch – or in my case, breakfast,” he chuckled, “and I’ll tell you all about it.”

With a warm and grateful smile, Mike nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that a lot.” He looked at the open grave once more and the smile disappeared. As he turned away, he felt Steve’s hand on his back and a comforting pat.

# # # # #

Steve bit into the grilled cheese sandwich and closed his eyes in ecstasy. “Oh my god, you’ve got to make these more often,” he gushed after swallowing. “You’ve been holding out on me. These are amazing.”

Mike chuckled as he put two mugs of coffee down on the table and turned back to the stove to finish browning his own sandwich in the cast iron skillet. “I always forget about these,” he said with a chuckle. “I don’t think I’ve made them since before Jeannie went away.”

“Well, I’m gonna make sure you don’t forget again, let me tell you,” Steve chuckled as he took another big bite then washed it down with a gulp of coffee. He was actually starting to feel a little more human after getting less than four hours sleep.

When they had gotten back to the De Haro Street house, Mike had changed out of the black suit while Steve made the coffee. With Mike making the sandwiches, Steve sat at the table and started to fill him in on the events of the previous night. 

When he finished, the lines in the older man’s face were even deeper than usual. “Well, I’m glad things went so smoothly and nobody got hurt, but what you’re telling me about this Mitchell character has me a little worried.”

Steve picked up his coffee cup. “Why’s that?”

Mike took a bite of his sandwich and Steve used the respite in the conversation to do the same. After he swallowed, Mike said, “Well, if what he told you is true, then we’ve got a leaker in the department.”

It was Steve’s turn to frown. “You think so?”

Mike tilted his head with a facial shrug. “Well, you said yourself that you guys were using walkie-talkies and nobody was using the police band to communicate anything about any of the raids or arrests, right?”

Chewing, the younger man nodded.

“Now Leist finding out about Russell and Young’s arrests after the fact isn’t news… and I’m sure he has someone at the station on his payroll, but that kinda stuff is small potatoes. But someone finding out about a raid and an arrest before it happens…” He chuckled dryly. “Well, that’s something else altogether. That has me worried.”

“So, what? You think Leist has someone that’s supplying him with inside information as soon as we find out about it too?”

Taking a sip of coffee, Mike shook his head. “Not Leist. But this… Mitchell?” His partner nodded. “He was the one that was there last night before everything went down, right? So it goes without saying – but I’ll say it anyway,” he chuckled, “that he knew in advance what you were doing. He even told you that, in a roundabout way, didn’t he?”

Steve paused with the remains of his sandwich halfway to his mouth. “Yeah, he did, and I wanted to get him to be more specific about it but that’s when Sean called me on the talkie and Mitchell just strolled away. And legally I couldn’t detain him –“ Steve was beginning to sound a little more troubled by his actions, or lack thereof, the night before.

Mike put up a calming hand to stop the self-flagellation. “Relax, relax, there was no way you could force him to stay no matter what you did or what he said, so don’t beat yourself up about it. But we know who he is, we know who he works for, we can get his address and we know where he hangs out, now don’t we?”

Steve thought about it for a moment then nodded. “Yeah.” He popped the rest of the sandwich in his mouth and grinned.

Chuckling, Mike shook his head. “Look, you’re going to have your hands full with the Baker interview so why don’t you let me look into Mitchell and the leaker.” He took a sip of coffee, watching with anticipation as Steve chewed quickly so he could voice the objection he knew would be coming.

Steve didn’t disappoint. “I thought you said you’d keep your promise to Dr. Raynis that you’d go home and stay there until he told you you could go back to work?”

“And I will,” Mike agreed with a slow nod, taking another sip of coffee.

“Well, you’ve already broken it by going to the funeral this morning…”

“I know… but that couldn’t be helped. Besides, how do you think I got the information about the time and the place anyway?”

Steve’s eyebrows narrowed. “You didn’t read the notice in the paper?”

Mike shook his head. “The nurses gave it to me, just before I left the hospital. So they knew where I was going…” He shrugged with a small smile.

“Yeah, but Dr. Raynis didn’t, I bet.”

Mike looked away briefly. “Well, no…” he conceded, “but I stayed in all day yesterday after I got home, so that has to count for something.” He finished with an expectant smile and raised eyebrows.

Steve rolled his eyes and sighed. “I’m not going to win this, I just know it. All right, I’ll take you through everything we did yesterday… well, everything I participated in and can remember… and if you promise to do all your digging from here… I’ll keep my mouth shut about it, okay?”

Grinning and nodding, Mike picked up his empty coffee cup and plate and brought them to the counter then did the same with Steve’s. He refilled both cups then returned them to the table along with the dishcloth and wiped the table. While Steve sipped his coffee and watched, Mike disappeared briefly into the living room, returning with a pad of paper and a pen. By the time the older man sat back down at the table, Steve knew that Mike Stone the detective and, more importantly, his partner was once more at his side.

The passion back in his eyes, Mike stared expectantly at the younger man, the pen in his right hand poised above the paper. “So take me through yesterday, minute by minute, from the moment you guys got back to the Hall with Russell and Young.” 

With a warm smile and a gentle chuckle, Steve leaned forward and put the coffee cup on the table. “Okay. So there were only five of us in on that arrest, like I said, Dan, Norm, the two uniforms and me…” 

Mike began to take notes. They were only at it for about ten minutes when the kitchen phone rang. They both looked up at it then Mike got to his feet. Steve had called into the Hall when they’d gotten back to the De Haro house to let them know where he was.

“Hello?... Yeah, Sean, he’s right here…” He held the receiver out and Steve got up and took it.

“Yeah, Sean, what’s happening?… Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He hung up and looked at his partner. “Baker’s lawyer’ll have him ready for us in half an hour.”

Mike grinned proudly. “Go get ‘em, tiger,” he chuckled.


	39. Chapter 39

Mike was still in the kitchen five hours later when Steve let himself in. He crossed the living room quietly and leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms. 

The older man was bent over the table that had been pushed across the room and against the wall under the phone, which was now within easy reach above his left shoulder. The table itself was piled high with small stacks of foolscap filled with scribbled handwriting. A coffee cup was near his elbow. On the counter the percolator was still plugged in, the sugar bowl with its lid off and a carton of milk nearby.

After several seconds with no sign of being notice, his smile growing wider, Steve softly cleared his throat.

Mike jumped slightly, his head spinning towards the door, glaring over the black-rimmed reading glasses. “How long have you been standing there?” he accused gruffly.

Chuckling, Steve pushed himself away from the door and moved towards the table. “Long enough to know you’ve had a busy day.”

Mike glanced down at the table, taking his glasses off, and snorted then looked back up quickly. He eyes snapped to the clock on the stove console. “What the hell are you doing back here so soon? I thought you were interviewing Baker?”

Steve grabbed the kitchen chair that had remained where it usually lived and dragged it across the floor, straddling it. “That’s what I thought too, but when Larry and I got there, we heard that after Baker’s lawyer was confronted with the amount of evidence we had against his client, he met with him and they came to the mutual conclusion to plead nolo.”

“You’re kidding?”

Steve shook his head. “Nope. I guess he figures if he pleads the courts will go easier on him. And believe me, none of us want to disparage him of that little fantasy.”

Mike’s frown had deepened. “He does realize, doesn’t he, that pleading nolo to statutory rape is playing right into the D.A.’s hands?” The question was almost rhetorical. 

Steve added a shrug to his head shaking. “Anyway, it’s out of our hands – it’s a Personal Crimes problem now. And I am officially back in Homicide, or so Roy tells me.”

Mike, still mulling over the confounding decision by Baker’s lawyer to cop a plea, grunted in the affirmative. “That’s good,” he muttered distractedly.

Steve smiled. “Ah, Roy is starting to look a little more comfortable in your office than I like, so let’s say we get you healthy as soon as possible so you can join me, okay?”

“Umh-humh, yeah,” Mike mumbled again, his gaze still unfocused.

Steve leaned forward slightly. “Mike.”

The older man’s head came up, frowning. “What?”

Knowing his partner hadn’t heard his last comment, Steve chuckled, pointing at the papers on the table. “What’s going on here?”

Looking momentarily confused, Mike stared blankly at the table then his eyes snapped wide and he shook his head slightly, as if clearing his thoughts. He pointed at the papers with his glasses. “Oh, ah, after you left, I decided to buckle down and try to figure out who Mitchell was talking about. So I started calling around.”

“Who did you call?”

“Well, Sean for starters, to see what he remembered about yesterday. I found out who the four unies were they used last night and I talked to them. I couldn’t scare up Larry… or you… but I talked to the ADA that was on call and even Judge Miglin.”

“Wow, you were busy.”

“Hunh, that’s not the half of it. I made a… what do you call it?...” He growled in frustration, rooting through the papers to find the one he wanted. “Here.” Triumphantly he picked up a legal length yellow pad and handed it to the younger man. On it, in a circle, were about a dozen names with arrows connecting some with others. Tiny numbers were printed along the arrows.

Steve’s curious frown deepened as he studied the diagram in his hand. “What the hell is this?”

“Well, it’s not done yet,” Mike defended himself, a tinge of doubt in his voice.

“Okay,” Steve said slowly, drawing out the word, “but what is it?”

With a perturbed grunt, Mike leaned closer and pointed at the names around the periphery of the page. “Isn’t it obvious? There’s you, Larry, Sean, the four uniforms,” he pointed as he listed them, “the ADA, the judge…” As he said each name, he seemed to gain a little more confidence.

Steve nodded, continuing to stare at the paper. He pointed to three names Mike hadn’t mentioned. “Who’re they?”

The older man sat back slightly with a smile. “They are my little aces in the hole, I guess you could call them…”

Steve looked at him and then back at the page, leaning closer and almost squinting. “Lois Oliver, John Beacham and Sandra Reseda?”

Mike nodded, his lips pressed together. “Umh-humh.”

With a blank look at his partner, Steve asked. “So who are Lois Oliver, John Beacham and Sandra Reseda?”

Grinning like a Cheshire cat and with a whimsical head bobble, Mike grabbed his empty coffee cup and crossed to the counter. He poured the cold remains down the sink and picked up the percolator. “Want a cup?” he offered.

“No, thanks,” Steve muttered distractedly, continuing to stare. “Who are Lois Oliver, John Beacham and Sandra Reseda?” he asked again.

Mike deliberately put the percolator down, picked up the mug and a spoon and leaned against the counter. “They were the dispatchers on duty yesterday.”

When Steve didn’t respond right away, Mike took his time stirring the coffee, putting the spoon down and taking a sip. The younger man’s frown grew deeper and he shook his head once. “So you’re saying that you think one of our dispatchers is tipping Mitchell off?”

Mike shrugged, pushing himself away from the counter and sitting back down. “All I’m saying is that’s where I’ve gotten so far with my little… investigation…” He raised his eyebrows. “What did you expect? I’ve only been at it for about five hours,” he whined with a chuckle.

“All right,” Steve laughed, continuing to stare at the paper, trying to decipher the cryptic notes along the lines of the arrows. He pointed. “And these are…?”

Mike glanced at the pad. “Times. Those are the times that those two people made contact – either over the phone or the walkie-talkie, or through Dispatch.”

“But I told you not one word of our communication was made through Dispatch.”

“Ah yes, that’s true, but the initial calls to the black-and-whites to get them to go to the location last night were made by Dispatch.” Mike’s grin got even wider.

“Son of a bitch,” Steve mumbled, “I’d totally forgotten about that.”

Mike shrugged. “Why would you even think about it, it happens all the time, right? Almost every time we communicate with one another when we’re out on the road is through Dispatch so it doesn’t even register with us anymore.”

“And they know where every black-and-white is and where everyone’s been assigned at all times… Of course.” It was like the other shoe had dropped. Steve smiled in comprehension, nodding. “And you’re saying that all three of these dispatchers knew what address the two black-and-whites that were with us yesterday were sent to?”

Mike grimaced slightly. “Well, that I’m not sure of yet. I just know these were the ones on duty. I still have to do some digging in that regard. Oh, and I’ve already put in a request, through Rudy, to Personnel to try to get a look at their files.” He shrugged in frustration. “That may not fly… I actually don’t have enough evidence… well, any evidence to be honest… that any of them did anything wrong, so getting a look at their personnel files may be a non-starter.” He grinned suddenly. “But what the hell, it’s worth a try, isn’t it?” 

Steve had been watching silently, trying to hide the bemused smile that kept threatening to erupt. It was wonderful to see his partner so excited and engaged again; he’d missed the guileless enthusiasm. “So… what’s next?”

Almost deflating, Mike shrugged. “Well, that I’m not sure about. I’m, ah, I’m pretty sure I’m not going to get my hands on their personnel files so were gonna have to find out about them through a different… avenue.” He exhaled loudly and hung his head briefly. “And passing the time of day with them is out of the question, as both of us are strangers to them and it’d look kinda weird if all of a sudden we became chummy.” He chuckled. “And, ah, I’m… confined here,” he gestured vaguely around the room, “by dint of a promise made to a certain doctor…”

“And to me,” Steve added dryly and watched the older man’s eyes snap towards him.

“And to you…” Mike agreed grudgingly, “so I’m kind of… handcuffed, if you’ll pardon the metaphor… or simile or whatever it is…”

Steve chuckled; he knew Mike knew exactly what he was saying. He shook his head with a smirk. “Okay, all right, I know what you’re driving at… as subtle as you’ve been…” The blue eyes bored into his almost beseechingly and the smile he was trying to suppress reluctantly appeared. “Yes, I will be your eyes and ears. What do you want me to do?”

Mike grinned suddenly, his entire face lighting up. “That’s my boy,” he chuckled happily as he straightened up and turned to the table. He started pawing through the papers again, continuing to chuckle until he found the one he was looking for, handing it to the younger man. “I did manage to get their home phone numbers from their senior officer, but nothing else. I didn’t want to sound too… pushy and blow it before I even got started. I just said I needed to get in touch with them about a question of timing for a homicide I’m investigating.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “So you lied.”

After a brief pause and a quiet throat clearing, Mike mumbled, “I… fabricated an excuse in the pursuit of truth, justice and the American way.” He finished, chuckling, and Steve broke into a full-blown laugh.

“All right, Superman, so where do you want me to start?”

“Well, seeing as you’re back at work – but not on the streets, am I right?” He was suddenly focused on the younger man, frowning. “They can’t let you out on the streets with that thing still on, right?” He pointed at the cast.

Shaking his head, the younger man reached out and patted Mike’s arm. “Don’t worry, I’m tied to my desk.”

“Yeah, like you’ll stay there…” Mike muttered sarcastically. “Anyway, you know what to do, just ask around. We need to know about their personal lives. The reason people sell information is usually because they need money, so I want to know about their houses, any medical expenses, that kind of thing. Find out what kind of cars they drive, do they have a second house, do they have kids in university… you know what we need.”

Steve was nodding. “Yeah, I know… I’m just trying to figure out how I’m gonna do all that without tipping my hand.”

“Well,” Mike started slowly, “if I was you, I’d ask that gorgeous redhead that works in Personnel out on a date…”

His nodding head suddenly coming to an abrupt stop, Steve’s eyes narrowed. “What gorgeous…? Amy?”

“Oh, is that her name?” Mike asked, sounding all innocence. When his partner glared at him, he started to chuckle, wagging a finger. “I knew you’d know who I was talking about. I’m sure she’d be thrilled to go out on a dinner date with the force’s ‘Golden Boy’.”

“’Golden Boy’,” Steve growled under his breath, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. “You’re just lucky I like you as much as I do,” he threatened playfully, raising his cast as if to swat the older man.

With a laugh very close to a giggle, Mike reached out and patted his partner’s cheek, snapping his hand away before Steve could slap it. He got to his feet. “Listen, ah, I don’t know about you but I’m hungry. Why don’t you go through my notes and see if you can make hide or hair out of them while I whip us up something to eat? I have a hard time concentrating on an empty stomach, don’t you?”


	40. Chapter 40

He crossed the almost empty, post lunch-hour room and dropped the large envelope onto the table. “I swear, if anybody finds out about this, you are going to be paying me my pension for the rest of my life, am I clear?” With a frustrated snort, the portly, bespectacled, gray-haired older man dropped heavily into the bench seat of the dark wood and red leather booth.

“Relax,” Mike chuckled as he reached across the table, picked up the envelope and slid the three brown legal-length file folders out, putting the empty envelope on the seat beside his baseball cap. His notebook and a pen were already on the table. “I didn’t tell anybody where I was going and I’m hoping you didn’t either. And nobody is going to find us way out here. So… just relax.” He opened the top file and began to pore through it.

Martin Klosky stared at the top of his old friend’s head and snorted. His eyes eventually travelled around the small bistro. “How did you find this place anyway?”

“Humh? Oh, ah, phone book,” Mike mumbled, not looking up.

With an ‘I’m-not-at-all-surprised’ sigh, Klosky began to drum his fingers on the table. Mike swallowed a smile.

“Listen, ah, order whatever you want. It’s on me.”

Growling, Klostky picked up one of the two menus stacked at the end of the table. “You bet it is.”

Silence settled over the booth as Mike continued to rifle through the first file and Klosky studied the menu. Eventually he snapped it shut and slammed it down on the table. “So, ah, what are you looking for anyway?”

Mike finally glanced up, shaking his head briefly. “I don’t want to get you involved, Martin, but let’s just say it could have…very serious implications for someone and it could do a lot of good for the department.”

The Personnel clerk’s eyes narrowed. He’d been an ancillary member of the police department for a long time and, though he didn’t carry a badge, felt every inch a member of the SFPD, with its inherent pride and commitment to the public welfare. And he knew what Mike was insinuating. “Are you talking about a leaker?”

Mike stared at him without moving for a long second then blinked slowly.

“Damn,” Klosky breathed, leaning back and sagging like a deflated balloon. 

The waitress approached the table; it took a couple of seconds for Klosky to notice her. He shook his head quickly then apologized before ordering. “Mike, you want anything?”

Without looking up, Mike shook his head. “No, I’m fine with just coffee, thanks.”

The waitress picked up the menus and disappeared with a smile and a nod. 

“What, you’re not eating?”

Mike shook his head. “No, I had a big breakfast. Have to watch the waistline, you know…” He chuckled.

Klosky snorted. “Yeah, right…” He had long given up the battle of the bulge himself but, then again, he wasn’t a cop on the front lines like the man across the table.

Mike closed the first file and reached for the next one. He looked up at his old friend. “I really appreciate this, Marty, you have no idea.”

The older man nodded. “Sure. Say, does this have anything to do with that big case Personal Crimes wrapped up yesterday, all those rapes and all that?”

Mike bobbled his head. “Sort of.”

“I heard through the grapevine that you and that young partner of yours had a lot to do with closing that one. That true?”

“Well, we had something to do with it,” the Homicide lieutenant nodded, smiling modestly. 

“And, ah, that was a hell of an accident you guys were in a few weeks ago. You both okay?”

“We’re getting there. He’s back to work, I’m still on sick leave.”

“Good, good. Listen, ah, Mike, sorry I sounded like a bear with a sore ass when I got here… I had no idea –“

“Marty,” Mike stopped him, “no need to apologize. I really couldn’t explain much over the phone, and I’m sorry about that. But this,” he hefted the file before him, “this is invaluable and I appreciate the risk you’re taking, believe me.”

“The risk we’re both taking,” Klosky corrected with raised eyebrows. He waited a beat as the other man continued to study the file. “So what exactly are you looking for anyway?”

With a warm smile, Mike looked up again. “To tell you the truth, I have no idea. I just hope I know it when I see it, but right now, I have no idea.”

Klosky chuckled. “Well, good luck.”

Silence settled over them once more. Klosky’s lunch was delivered and he ate quietly as Mike worked his way through the second file and started on the third. Just as the empty plate was cleared and the coffee cups refilled, Mike closed the folder and sat back. With a slight smile, he stacked the files, put them back in the large envelope and slid it across the table. He flipped his notebook shut and put it and the pen into his jacket pocket.

“Get what you wanted?”

Mike shrugged. “I’m not sure… maybe…”

Shaking his head and smiling, Klosky stood, picking up the envelope. “Good luck.” Patting the detective on the shoulder, he started towards the door.

Mike sat back in the booth and picked up his coffee cup. As he watched his old friend leave the restaurant, he thought back over the past few weeks and everything he and Steve had been through. They weren’t out of the woods yet but they were getting a lot closer to the clearing, he thought with a chuckle.

He gave Klosky a ten-minute headstart, then got up and crossed to the cash to pay the bill. It was going to be an expensive day, he thought to himself with a laugh.

# # # # #

Dragging himself up the steep concrete stairs, Steve located the right key and slipped it into the lock. Mike was sitting in the easy chair in the living room, watching the 10 o’clock news. He looked towards the door with wide-eyed surprise when his partner stepped wearily into the room and dropped heavily onto the couch.

“I didn’t expect to see you tonight. I thought you’d go straight home.”

Steve snorted dryly. “I wanted to report in,” he said flatly, as if he was in shock.

Mike started to chuckle. “What the hell happened?” He got up and turned the sound on the TV down. “You want a coffee or a beer?”

Waving a hand, the younger man shook his head. “No no, I’m fine. Believe me.”

His brows knitting, Mike sat back down. “Okay, so… what is it you wanted to… report?” He had never seen his partner like this and he was intrigued, and a little spooked.

Steve opened his mouth to start, hesitated, closed his mouth, waited a beat or two, then started again. “So, you do realize that it’s gonna take more than just, you know, one date to get any information out of Amy, right? I mean, I can’t just start questioning her about, you know, the dispatchers personal lives on the first date…”

Mike was nodding. “Of course, of course…”

Steve looked at his partner with what could only be described as dread. “Please don’t make me do it again, Mike, please…”

He sounded so pathetic that the older man couldn’t stifle his sudden laughter. Mike managed to swallow his mirth but the smile kept trying to escape. He cleared his throat, trying to get control of his voice before he asked semi-seriously, “Have a… bad night?”

Steve’s eyes narrowed and he glared across the room; Mike actually sat back sightly, not knowing what to expect. The younger man’s deep-throated, close-mouthed chuckle sounded borderline insane. “I think there was a reason I never asked Amy out on a date before… I mean, I’ve always found her incredibly attractive but I think there was this little… you know, this voice in the back of my mind that said maybe she just wasn’t right for me… you know what I mean?...”

“Sure…” Mike responded slowly, nodding.

“I should’ve listened to that voice,” he whispered, staring into space. 

Mike leaned forward slightly. “What happened?” he asked hesitantly.

“She thinks Nixon is a great president… she’s been in mourning since The Monkees broke up… and her favorite author is Jacqueline Susann…”

Mike quickly brought a hand up to cover the snicker that exploded from his lips and in a vain attempt to hide his smile.

Not seeming to notice, Steve continued in a monotone. “She never asked me what I like, she never took the time. I, on the other hand, know how old her parents are, how many brothers and sisters she has and what they all do for a living, how many nieces and nephews she has, the hobbies she had growing up, that she plays the piano and the recorder, and that she has a cat named Mr. Puss.”

Lowering his head, Mike’s hand slid up from his mouth to his eyes; he was biting the inside of his cheek.

“At this rate, we won’t get around to talking about the dispatchers till next year…”

With a final snort, Mike lowered his hand and managed to divest his features of any expression except genuine concern, or so he hoped. He cleared his throat. “So what you’re trying to tell me…” he winced slightly in sympathy and understanding, “is you really don’t see much point in continuing this line of inquiry… Is that what I’m getting from you?”

Steve nodded slowly, his eyes wide. “Yes,” he dragged the word out. “that’s exactly what I’m saying…”

Mike started to nod in sync as they stared at one another. “Okay, well, I really don’t think you have to – or you should,” he added quickly, “if you find it that… disturbing…”

Continuing to nod, Steve said quietly, “I really did…”

“Okay,” Mike said casually, “consider that avenue of investigation, ah, closed. How does that sound?”

For the first time, Steve smiled slightly. “Yeah, that would be good…”

“Okay…” Mike sat back and rolled his eyes, hoping the younger man didn’t notice. “Oh, ah, did you bring me the bill?”

Steve chuckled, leaning forward to pull his wallet out of his back pocket. “Oh, you bet I did. You’re gonna love this,” he said as he pulled the receipt from the billfold and handed it to the older man, “she ordered the lobster.”

Mike grimaced as he took the bill, inhaling sharply when his eyes found the total. “Well,” he said brightly, putting on a forced smile, “at least this will be the only one, right?”

“Thank god…” Steve leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes. “I better haul my ass home, let you get to bed.” He started to get up.

“Listen, ah, before you go…”

Steve froze then sank to the couch again slowly. 

Mike cleared his throat almost self-consciously. “I, ah, I had a chance today to get a look at the personnel files of our three dispatchers…”

The younger man stared at him suspiciously. “How did you do that?”

Mike waved a hand dismissively. “We’ll talk about that later. But, ah, but I think I may have solved our little mystery about Mitchell and his… informant.”

Steve frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You, ah, you said Mitchell’d told you he’d been laid-off and he was freelancing, right? That a bunch of reporters from the Chronicle had been laid-off, right? It’s, ah, it’s gotta be tough for someone of his age to have to rely on freelance work to keep a roof over your head and food on the table… You kind of need all the… well, all the help you can get… right?”

Mike’s voice had grown soft and serious, his features melancholic. Steve nodded slowly.

“So every once in a while someone tosses you a bone so you can get the scoop, right? So you can beat the others and maybe get your byline on the front page again.”

He paused, and in the ensuing silence Steve asked quietly. “Which one?”

Mike smiled almost sadly. “Lois Oliver is his sister-in-law. His wife’s brother’s wife.”

Steve closed his eyes and sighed. A silence settled over them. The younger man looked up eventually and met his partner’s stare. “What do you want to do?”

Mike raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. “You told me you promised Mitchell an exclusive if he told you what he knew, right?”

“Yeah, but he didn’t really tell me anything, did he?”

The older man shrugged.

“So… what are you saying?”

Mike took a deep breath. “I think what I’m saying is… I’m gonna leave this one up to you, buddy boy. I have a feeling that this was Lois’s first… moment of weakness, shall we say… and she may have just been looking out for a well-loved family member. And now that we know about her, we can keep an eye on her and if she does it again, she’s gone.” He snorted slightly.

“And as for Mitchell,” he continued gently, “well, I think he needs a bone right about now, don’t you? So, maybe… if I was you,” he raised his eyebrows and smiled warmly, “I’d go out to dinner once more – but not with Amy,” he added quickly, raising a forefinger and chuckling, “and keep that promise.”

Steve inhaled deeply, staring at his partner with eyes that had suddenly filled with unexpected tears. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Yeah,” he said slowly and softly, “yeah, I think you’re right.”


	41. Chapter 41

Two months later…

He didn’t even bother trying to stifle the yawn this time. He rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes then down his face, shaking his head to try to keep himself awake.

He looked over the counter towards the back of the small bodega once more; the older woman looked at him and smiled apologetically again. “Sorry…”

Steve smiled and nodded in understanding. He turned to lean against the counter, stuffing his hands into his pants pockets. Mike had insisted on stopping for coffee with the caveat that if the pot was only filled with the dregs, he must wait while a fresh pot was brewed. 

The young detective shot his cuff and glanced at his watch. 2:13. He sighed heavily; they should have been home in bed long ago but for some reason Mike’s CI wanted to meet at 2:30 in the morning way down in Hunters Point.

Exhaling loudly again, he thought back over the past few weeks. The cast on his right wrist had finally come off for good and he started feeling normal again. It had healed perfectly and he had passed his physical with flying colours and been allowed back on the street. His partner was now completely healthy as well and the team was reunited. It felt good to be back, in the office and in the car. And he was a little surprised at how much he had missed it.

Not long after his talk with Mike, he had gone to dinner with Michael Mitchell, something he never thought would’ve happened, and had kept his word. Mike’s sympathetic observations about Mitchell and his sister-in-law had struck a chord with him. And he had come away from the dinner not only with the feeling that he had helped an essentially good man down on his luck but that he had also made a valuable ally, someone with his own cadre of informants and pipelines that could prove an asset somewhere down the road.

He also knew that Mike hadn’t kept the information about Lois Oliver and her indiscretion to himself. Steve wasn’t sure who he talked to, but it was someone higher up on the SFPD food chain, and it had been mutually decided, he knew, that the information be suppressed for the moment. No real harm had been done this time, though the potential for disaster had been present, of course; and they had no concrete evidence, just gut instinct. But Lois Oliver would be forever flagged, and if something else were to come up, her job would be forfeit and she could face criminal charges. 

In not so many words, Steve had warned Mitchell that they were aware of his tipster, and the journalist had tacitly agreed that it would never happen again. By the time the meal had ended, the young cop somehow knew that Mitchell was a man of his word, and any misgivings he had brought to the table had vanished.

“Here you go,” the clerk said with a smile, putting the paper bag with two coffees on the counter behind him. “Sorry it took so long.”

Steve turned and nodded with a weary smile. “No problem. Thanks a lot.” He picked up the bag and headed out the door.

“Steve!” he heard Mike yell urgently and leaned down so he could see his partner through the driver’s side window. The older man had the radio mic in his hand. He was urgently waving at him to hurry up. “Just got a call! A unie’s chasing a guy who just shot a gas station attendant! They’re coming our way! Let’s go!”

Dropping the bag to the sidewalk, Steve had sprinted to the car and jumped behind the wheel before Mike had finished his explanation. As the car shot away from the curb, the lieutenant reached under his seat, pulled out the cherry and slapped it on the roof over his head after turning it on. At this time of night, there was no need, as yet, to turn on the siren.

“They’re coming up Harbor!” Mike yelled over the roar of the engine as the Galaxie screamed south on West Point. “He’s probably going to try for the Bridge so they’ll be turning onto Ingalls!”

As the large sedan slewed through the stop sign to make a right hand turn, its tires squealing on the cool asphalt, Steve couldn’t resist a tiny smile; his partner’s intimate knowledge of the all the highways, streets and back alleys of his beloved city never ceased to amaze.

Straightening the Galaxie out, Steve stood on the gas and the unmarked car rocketed down the tree-lined four-lane street, the small apartment buildings and shops shuttered and dark. There were no other cars on the road.

Steve could feel his heart start to pound as adrenaline coursed through his entire body. His mind flashed back to last time he and Mike were in this situation; his mouth went dry, his palms wet. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, as if to clear his mind to concentrate on the task at hand.

They were approaching Harbor; Mike glanced over. He had braced himself against the ceiling and the dashboard like he always did, but Steve was too preoccupied to see the slight smile curling his lips. 

They came over the crest of a small hill in time to see a black Cadillac Seville slide around the corner several hundred yards ahead, a black-and-white, its lights flashing, close to the back bumper. They tore south on Ingalls. Steve leaned forward slightly as if encouraging more speed out of the Galaxie as it shot through the stop sign at Harbor.

“I have an idea!” Mike yelled. “Turn at the next right!”

Not taking his eyes from the cars ahead, Steve countered, “I thought they were heading for the bridge –?“

“Take the next right!” Mike ordered and Steve slammed on the brakes, slowing the heavy sedan enough to make the turn onto Hudson then floored the gas pedal again. He briefly took his eyes off the road to glance at his partner, who was staring through the windshield, his eyes wide with anticipation. 

“Get ready to hang a left!” Mike yelled again and Steve frowned as the car came over a slight rise and he could see a street on the left. 

“Good, good!” Mike yelled as the car made the tight turn. “At the end of this park, you’re gonna take another left!” 

Steve could see an open area on his left; he guessed it was a park but he had no idea. He could see buildings up ahead on the left and knew the turn was coming. 

As the car straightened up again, Mike pointed triumphantly through the window. Just yards ahead was another wide intersection. “That’s Lasalle!” Mike crowed, both of them knowing Lasalle connected with 3rd Street, and 3rd would take them all the way to the Bay Bridge. “I think we beat ‘em!”

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than the DeVille roared past, heading north. Steve pumped the brakes and the Galaxie squealed around the corner in pursuit. The black-and-white had fallen back slightly and now the unmarked was the closest police car to the fleeing Cadillac. 

The DeVille screamed up Lasalle, blasting through red lights, the Galaxie close on its tail but unable to gain any ground. Mike snagged the mic. “Inspectors 8-1, in pursuit of a black Cadillac DeVille heading northbound on Lasalle. Possibly heading for 3rd and the Bridge. Request back-up!” Trying to balance himself in the bouncing car, it took a couple of tries to hang the mic back up. 

His eyes remaining locked on the DeVille’s back bumper, Steve said loudly, “That guy knows how to drive!”

“Great!” Mike growled back, sarcastically. “Get ready… 3rd’s coming up!”

“Yep, got it!” Steve nodded, as they both could see the DeVille’s taillights come on and the large sedan begin to swing into a right turn. Steve expertly followed close behind but still couldn’t gain any ground.

All three cars raced up Lasalle, expertly weaving past the occasional vehicle that was still on the road at that hour, getting closer to the bridge. Steve could see his partner in his peripheral vision, foot on the dash, hand on the ceiling, completely focused on the car in front of them. He wondered for a fleeting moment if, like himself, Mike was reliving the last time they were in a pursuit like this and, also like him, hoping it would end much differently.

The top of the first tower of the Bay Bridge appeared above the buildings lining 3rd. Steve swallowed subconsciously; this needed to end before they got there. If the DeVille got to the Embarcadero, there would be no way to stop him before the Bridge.

Suddenly the taillights came on and the Cadillac slewed hard to the right. Steve jammed on the brakes and followed. When the Galaxie straightened out, he took a quick glance across the front seat towards his partner. Mike had looked over with a frown. The DeVille seemed to be heading towards the Bay.

The black-and-white on its tail, the Galaxie followed the DeVille around another left turn, screaming up the pothole-ridden road along the waterfront. The large, low grey warehouses of Pier 50 loomed up on the right as they flew by. 

Tires squealing, the DeVille braked hard again and turned right, onto a pier. Jamming on the brakes, Steve reefed the steering wheel to the right, fighting to control the sliding Galaxie as he followed. 

“Go left!” he heard Mike shout as the Galaxie straightened out. “Go left!” 

After a brief hesitation, then realizing what his partner meant, Steve cranked the wheel to the left. As the DeVille shot up the narrow road alongside the single story concrete warehouse that was Pier 48, the Galaxie rocketed up the other side. The end of the pier, and the water, was coming up quickly. 

Mike braced himself even harder as the Galaxie slewed to the right around the end of the warehouse; the DeVille, the black-and-white still on its tail, was coming straight at them. Steve spun the wheel and the Galaxie went into a skid, turning sideways and rocking to a squealing halt, tires smoking, blocking the narrow road.

“I’ve got this!” Mike yelled as he opened the door before the Galaxie had stopped moving, his .38 already in his hand as he approached the DeVille. “Get out of the car with your hands behind your head!” he yelled.

Steve opened his door and was halfway to the DeVille when the driver got out, his head down and hands up. The two uniformed officers had joined them but, curiously, their firearms hadn’t been drawn.

The Cadillac driver lifted his head and looked straight at Steve, smiling. Mike lowered his gun and chuckled. Steve’s face fell. “Jeremy?” 

The tall blond man with the toothy grin nodded, glancing at Mike and lowering his hands. “How ya doin’, Steve?”

His brow furrowed in confusion, Steve looked at his partner, who was grinning. “What the hell is going on?” 

A small car turned onto the road behind the Galaxie and came to a stop. Then a van. Behind the black-and-white, three more cars made the turn onto the pier end and stopped. The drivers got out and approached. 

After putting his .38 back in the holster, Mike raised both hands. “Now before you get all…you know, pissed off at everybody, I just want you to know that this was all my idea.”

Steve narrow stare moved from his partner to the DeVille driver to the other young men who had begun to assemble, more and more every time he looked it seemed. 

“I have to say, Steve,” Jeremy said with a laugh, “I couldn’t’ve done that better myself. You’ve really got a good touch. You hung behind me every step of the way.” The police academy high-speed driving instructor glanced between the two partners. “Whose idea was it to take that shortcut up Hudson?”

Steve, who was still baffled by what was unfolding before him, nodded in Mike’s direction. “His.”

Mike looked at Jeremy and shrugged. “I know it wasn’t in the plan but I thought of it as we were getting closer to Hudson. So I took the chance.”

The instructor laughed. “You sure had me fooled. I was expecting you to catch up to me on Ingalls.”

“Me too,” the uniformed officer who had been driving the black-and-white chimed in. “When you disappeared from behind me I didn’t know what the hell was going on!” Everyone but Steve joined in his laughter.

Mike cleared his throat loudly, turning to the others. “Okay, fellas, I’ll take it from here. Thank you very much, you guys all did great.” He looked at Jeremy and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “You’re gonna pass them all, right?” he joked.

The instructor looked at the young men standing around them and bobbled his head. “Yeah, probably,” he chuckled, rewarded with a sea of smiles as they all turned and headed back to their cars.

“Thanks again, Jeremy,” Mike said seriously, shaking the younger man’s hand. “I appreciate all the hard work you put into it.” 

“You bet, Mike. You know what? I had a great time. It’s not often I get to do something like this… sort of like a Hollywood stunt driver, right?” He winked at the older man before turning towards the DeVille. “Take care of yourself, Steve!” he called over his shoulder as he got behind the wheel.

When the last car disappeared, Steve finally turned to his partner. He looked confused and a little annoyed. “What the hell was that all about?” he asked flatly. 

Mike had walked back to the Galaxie and was now leaning against the front fender. “Buddy boy,” he began quietly, “I know how much the accident on the bridge rattled you. Hell, it rattled me too, I’ll admit that. We both could’ve been killed that night. But we weren’t… because you knew what you were doing.” He paused for a second and smiled warmly. “But I had no guarantee, and neither did you, that either of us would be able to go through that again and, ah… well, and not lose our nerve. And I had to find out, for both our sakes.”

“So you set all this up?” Steve asked quietly, gesturing vaguely all around.

“Yeah, I did.” He tilted his head and snorted. “It wasn’t easy, let me tell ya… it took me about two weeks to get everything set up. I started with Jeremy.”

“So you… what? So there really was no meeting tonight with your CI?”

Mike shook his head. “Nope.”

“The bodega?”

“I slipped Maria a twenty to have an almost empty pot sitting on the burner when you got there.”

Steve dropped his head and snorted. “The black-and-white?”

“It’s a trainer car from the academy. It was moving so fast I was hoping you wouldn’t notice…” He shrugged.

“Who were all those other guys?”

“Oh, the graduating class from the academy?” the older man chuckled and Steve shook his head in disbelief. “I had them lining the streets we were going to be speeding past so no unsuspecting civilian stumbled into our path… They did a good job, don’t ya think?” He laughed quietly.

Steve looked at him expressionlessly; Mike stared back, not sure what the younger man was thinking. He waited.

Finally Steve dropped his head and shook it. “I can’t believe you did all that… for me…”

“Well,” Mike said softly, eyebrows rising, “I did it for me too. I had to know if both of us… well, if we could handle it anymore.” Steve’s head came up and their eyes met. “I don’t know about you, but I think we’re good. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Steve smiled slowly and a low chuckle began to build. “Yeah… yeah, we’re good.”

Nodding vigorously, Mike pushed himself off the car and walked to the passenger side. Still shaking his head, Steve started to the driver’s door then stopped. “So… you mean to tell me you got all this approved by the brass?”

Mike had stopped and was looking at him blankly. “Ah, well…” he cleared his throat, “ah, not with, um, with all of them…”

“With any of them?” Steve asked with a knowing smirk.

“Ah, well, I think I might have mentioned it in passing to Rudy, but he could’ve been on the phone at the time and I’m not sure if he heard me…”

Starting to laugh, Steve got behind the wheel. Mike climbed in the other side, pulling the cherry off the roof and stuffing it under the seat. He looked over, frowning, when he heard Steve turn the engine off. “What?” The younger man just stared at him. “Look, buddy boy, if you want to lay into me, this is the time and the place…” he said with a dry chuckle.

Steve slowly shook his head, a warm smile lighting his face. “No.” he snorted a laugh, “no, I, ah, I want to thank you. I, ah…” he exhaled heavily, “I still can’t believe you’d do all this… for –“

“For you?” Mike interrupted him, his smile disappearing. “We’re partners, Steve,” he answered quietly, “and I want us to stay partners, for as long as… well, as long as I’m capable of working the streets.” He stared at the younger man for a several long silent seconds, his eyes brightening.

Steve felt his throat constrict and he swallowed heavily. “Me too,” he whispered then turned the key and started the engine. As he shifted into Drive, he nodded at the radio. “That call you made to Dispatch…?”

“Oh, ah, you were too busy to notice but I never pressed the Talk button,” Mike chuckled. “Besides, didn’t you notice they never responded?”

Shaking his head and laughing, Steve turned the corner and the Galaxie crawled down the narrow lane beside the warehouses. He looked across the seat, his smile warm and loving. “Do you ever stop teaching?”

Mike’s eyes snapped towards him. “Teaching? I wasn’t teaching… well, maybe a little…”

“Yeah, right,” Steve nodded with a soft snicker, “you weren’t teaching…” He turned the Galaxie out onto the waterfront road. “Just, ah, just do me a favor, will ya? Don’t ever stop.”


End file.
